Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

And perhaps, just perhaps, he might never have to leave them again.

Moving slowly, like an old man, Harry limped out of the pentagram.

When Ginny stepped back into the Ceremonial Chamber, leaving Rhysenn in the corridor outside, she found that the choking smoke had begun very slightly to dissipate, though it still stung her eyes and brought a bitter taste to her mouth when she breathed. She blinked stinging tears out of her eyes, looking around for Hermione, Harry or Ron. She saw only the shattered ceiling above leaking starlight, the boiling smoke hiding the room's center -

And Draco, who had somehow managed to get back into the Ceremonial Chamber without passing her in the corridor. He was over by the wall, kneeling next to a prone Tom. Ginny hurried over.

"Did you kill him?" she asked, breathlessly, as she neared them.

Draco looked up. There was a hard edge to his expression, "You know I didn't." he said, and stood up. He prodded Tom with the toe of his boot; Tom didn't move. "Help me get him into the shackles," he said to Ginny.

It was harder than it sounded. Tom was dead weight between them, and Draco seemed to be making an effort not to look at her or touch her.

When they closed the second manacle around Tom's wrist, leaving him dangling between them like a corpse in a dungeon, Draco turned away. "I have to find my father," he said.

"Draco," Ginny said. "Are you all right?"

"The ring brought me here so he must be nearby," Draco said, glancing down at the heavy silver band on Tom's limp hand. "And Harry? Have you seen Harry?"

Ginny shook her head. "No. I'd guess he's somewhere… in there." She pointed at the swirling smoke. Shadows seemed to move inside it, though that could have been a trick of the light. "Draco, please — "

He looked at her, motionless, a slender shadow in black with blood staining his shirt — red, drying to black, not his own blood. "You stay here with him," he said. "Guard him with all the instincts of self-preservation you can muster."

"I should have told you," she began, stricken. "It's just that…."

He took a step forward, gripped her shoulders so hard that she gasped with pain as well as surprise. "Yes," he said. "You should have. Imagine our positions reversed, if you had been the unwitting instrument of my death, if I had tricked you into it."

"I thought you wouldn't hurt him if I told you…"

"And you wanted him hurt that badly?" Draco demanded, incredulous.

"No," Ginny said softly. "But I am afraid of the part of myself that doesn't want it. And Draco — I wanted you to be able to fight, to protect yourself, without worrying about me, with handicapping yourself out of fear for my safety — "

He pushed her away, so hard that she stumbled. "I thought you had stopped being a spoiled little child. I was wrong."

"I'm not a child," she said.

Gray eyes blazed in his thin face. "Don't you ever do anything like that again," he said, and turned and walked away. She watched as the smoke coiled around him, erasing him slowly until he had vanished from her sight. Then she turned back to Tom.

It was Hermione who saw him first, of course. The smoke clearing around him as he walked away from the pentagram, cradling his right arm against his chest. There was blood on his white shirt, blood on his hands, blood that had spattered his face, and the bloody sword of Gryffindor hung by his side. "Harry!" she shrieked, and ran forward, stumbling and then righting herself, racing through the smoke.

Ron saw Harry lift his good arm and put it around her, and bow his face down into her hair. They clung to each other, filthy and injured and matted with blood. They clung to each other, and Ron looked away.

He glanced down at Lucius, still limp as a dead fish. Harry gets the girl, and I get Malfoy's dad, Ron thought wryly, but the old resentment wasn't there anymore. He prodded at it, experimentally, like prodding at a sore tooth, but he felt nothing at all. He didn't really love Hermione, not that way. It had been a cobweb of dreams, a phantom flower fed on lies and old jealousies.

He looked back at Harry and Hermione. Hermione had let go of Harry's neck and was examining his arm. He saw her tap her wand against it, and Harry straightened the arm out and smiled. There was a great tiredness in his smile, and as he and Hermione walked towards Ron, Ron wondered if she saw it.

"So you did it," Ron said, as Harry neared him. "I knew you would."

For a moment, Harry's smile was real. "Yeah, I — " He glanced down and saw Lucius, and the smile was wiped off his face. "Is he dead?"

Hermione shook her head. "Ron Stupefied him."

Harry looked at Ron. "Wake him up."

Ron blinked, surprised. "What?"

"Wake him up," Harry said hoarsely, but Ron, wandless, shook his head.

Harry raised his right hand, wincing. "Enervate."

Lucius' eyes flew open. He groaned, reaching for the dagger still embedded in his skin, and yanked it out by the hilt. He began to sit up, hand clamped to his arm, blood seeping out around his fingers. His teeth were bared. "My Lord Voldemort," he ground out.

"He's dead," Harry said. There was pure hatred in his voice. "This blood on my hands is his, as is the blood on my blade. And if you don't want yours to join it — "

"Draco," Lucius whispered. His eyes were wide, rimmed in red, his voice hoarse. "Is he all right?"

"Shut up," Harry said furiously, but his hand, clamped to the hilt of his sword, was shaking. "You're not fit to say his name, you sick, filthy murderer — you're worse than Voldemort in your way. He's your son -

your own son — "

"Where is he?" Lucius' hands, cvurled into claws, reached for Harry. "The blast — was he injured?"

"You can save your crocodile tears," Harry spat. "Like you care."

"But Harry," Hermione said. Her voice was remote, horrified "He does care."

"I know you like to think the best of everyone, Hermione," Harry said, without looking at her. "But he gave up his paternal feelings towards Draco years ago. Gave them over to Voldemort like they were so much trash."

"I know that, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "But Voldemort's dead now."

Harry turned his head towards her slowly, the confusion plain in his green eyes. "I don't understand," he said, and then a voice sounded behind him, a slim black-clad form taking shape as Draco stepped through the smoke.

"Harry," he said. He stood, blinking a little, eyes narrowed against the smoke. He didn't seem to see his father there, or Hermione, or Ron, or anyone but Harry. "You're all over blood — "

"Not mine," Harry said quickly. "Voldemort's. Well. Mostly."

There was a long pause. "So," Draco said, finally, "It looks like I've missed the excitement again, as usual," and there was relief in his voice, but his gaze stayed on Harry, taking him in slowly, lingering on each abrasion, cut, and bruise. "Your arm," he said. "I felt it break. But you're all right?"

"Hermione healed me," Harry said.

Draco lifted his hand, as if to touch Harry, his shoulders, his face and hands, to reassure himself" Draco," Lucius said again, in the same hoarse, new voice.

Draco dropped his hand, turning, his face a mask of surprise, and saw his father kneeling, hands clasped, and Ron standing behind him with the dagger. Draco didn't move, his hand still upraised, but Ron saw the edge of one pale eyelid twitch as Draco stared at his father.

"My boy," Lucius said, and staggered to his feet. "Please — "

"Shut up," Harry said, cutting him off, and turned to Draco. "He survived the blast," he said. "Peter didn't."

"Oh," Hermione said, sounding surprised, as if she'd heard this piece of information for the first time. She looked at Draco. "Tom…?" she asked.