Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

He was still splashed with blood. Not his own blood. Madam Pomfrey had declared him entirely unharmed. They had all been unharmed, a lucky miracle.

All but one.

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

On Ginny's other side, Hermione made a little noise, something between a whimper and a gasp. Ron put an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder awkwardly with his scarred right hand. The tops of his fingers were red with cold; he must have forgotten his gloves. Ginny wanted to reach over, touch his arm, seek comfort, but his gaze was flat and distant as he stared at the neat black coffin with its wreath of dark blue flowers. She wondered what he was thinking.

She looked around. Most of the funeral guests were strangers to her.

Lupin was here, though not Sirius. Next to him was Snape, like a ragged old crow in his black robes, his narrow face white and severe.

Recquisat in pace. Descensus.

The coffin began to move slowly downward; a corner of the wreath caught on a protruding root; scattering leaves and dark pansy petals into the grave. Ginny's breath caught in her throat. Darkness seeped into the edges of her vision, like ink spilling into clear water. She imagined herself fainting forward onto the coffin and took a stumbling step away from the yawning gap in the earth.

"Ginny," Blaise whispered, reaching a hand out to catch her sleeve.

"No," Ginny said. She hurried away from the grave and the neat knot of black-clad figures standing around it. The square heels of her boots crunched on the frost-mantled snow. Narrow paths of packed, icy earth ran between neat rows of mausoleums. She passed a grave whose headstone was carved into a heart. Amor Vincit Omnia.

"Bollocks," she said savagely, spinning away from the grave. She wanted to cry, but the icy cold had leached all moisture from the air, and the tears sat in her throat like a hard knot. She stalked along the path, rounded a corner, stopped at the ironwork fence that surrounded the graveyard. Leaning against it was a boy with fair hair.

She knew who he was, but it didn't matter. She wondered if there would ever be a time when the sight of a slim boy with fair hair, wearing dark clothes, wouldn't make her feel as if she'd been hit across the chest with a Beater's bat. He looked up, hearing the sound of her boots on the snow.

"So soon," he said. "Is it already over?"

"No," she said, roughly. "I couldn't stay. I couldn't bear it."

He came towards her, limping. His left arm was bandaged, and both blue eyes were circled in bruises. Draco had nearly cracked his skull apart with that knife. "Seamus," Ginny said, taking his hands-they were bare, and she wrapped her woolen fingers around them-"You shouldn't have come.

You're not well enough."

He was watching the crown of the hill with its sugaring of white gravestones. "I thought I could stand it, but I couldn't," he said. "So much death. I remember-" He broke off, looking past her. She turned to see Blaise on the path to the gate, tottering a little in her high heels, red hair snapping like a banner under her black fur hat. Seeing them, Blaise paused. Her eyes were fixed on Seamus with a look of horror.

Seamus pulled his hands out of Ginny's and turned away, walking towards the gate that led out to the road. It clanged shut behind him.

Blaise hurried towards Ginny. The cold air was whipping color into her cheeks, but she was still pale. "Are you all right? Did he-?"

"It's not like that, Blaise," Ginny said. "Seamus and I, we're friends. He's…"

"Not a psychotic killer? I know." Blaise shoved her hands deep into her fur-lined pockets and shivered. "But I can't help it. I look at him and I see him with Pansy's blood on his hands."

"Blaise-"

"He tried to kill me, too."

"It wasn't him," Ginny said, as strongly as she could, knowing it wasn't strongly enough. "Seamus and Tom are two totally different people."

Blaise sighed. "I hope you're right." She tilted her head to the side, the long, silky strands of her dark red hair mixing with the silvery fur-lined collar of her cloak. "Does Seamus….remember any of it?"

"He says he doesn't," Ginny said. "But sometimes he wakes up screaming."

"Screaming what?"

" 'No, no, no,' mostly," Ginny said bleakly. "People's names sometimes. He screams them to get away, to run. Sometimes he screams for me. Virginia, Virginia. He never used to call me that."

Blaise looked appalled. "God, that's terrible."

"I know." Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, and shivered.

Blaise narrowed her eyes, her look oblique. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why are you here? You didn't even like Pansy."

"Seamus wanted to come," Ginny said. "He feels…responsible."

"Well, technically-"

"He didn't do anything," Ginny said, more fiercely that she'd intended.

Blaise flinched, her green eyes flashing.

"I should have known it was just Gryffindor self-flagellation," she said sarcastically. "Well, don't do us any favors. Hermione, especially: Pansy hated her. She didn't like any of you, except Ron. I was actually her friend."

"You didn't like her either," Ginny pointed out.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Blaise said, and then laughed. She had a surprisingly sweet laugh, considering, Ginny thought, though the bell-sound seemed out of place in the graveyard. Blaise turned and looked behind her, following Ginny's glance. The knot of people by Pansy's grave had begun to move down the hill, a marching column of black ants. "I guess it's over," she said. "This is, like, the sixth funeral I've been to this week."

"It won't be the last," Ginny said, pushing her hair back from her face. She could see Ron's bright red head against the white winter sky. Hermione walked beside him, her arms folded.

"How is Draco?" Blaise said softly.

Ginny glanced down at her feet. "He hasn't woken up. At all. Madam Pomfrey says he could wake up any time, but he could also…go any time.

We've been taking turns sitting with him, except Harry-"

Blaise looked surprised. "Harry hasn't been sitting with him?"

"No, he has… I just mean he hasn't been taking it in turns-he's been there the whole time since Sirius and Professor Lupin brought us back from the castle. We've all been staying at school; Dumbledore thought he could be taken care of best there. Draco, I mean. Not Harry. Not that Harry doesn't need taking care of, too, but he won't even talk to anyone, he just… sits there." The wind was kicking snow up in small sharp flurries; Ginny blinked flakes from her eyelashes. "I know Hermione's worried sick about him."

"Why did she come to the funeral?" Blaise wondered. "She must have despised Pansy."

"For Ron," Ginny said. "We all came for Ron. We thought it was important."

Blaise blinked. "Surely he can't have been that fond of Pansy, really…"

"No," Ginny said, "but sometimes you need to bury the past."

"So to speak," said Blaise, and turned; Hermione and Ron were nearly upon them. Ron was white-faced and tired-looking; one of the scattered petals had fallen on his shoe, and stuck there. Hermione's red-mittened hand was firm on his arm.

"Hello, Blaise," she said, inclining her head.

Blaise muttered a reply, looking acutely uncomfortable.

"I had meant to thank you." Hermione pushed her hood back so that her dark hair spilled out; something glittered among the curls. "For the loan of your barrettes. They turned out to be useful."

"Glad to hear it," Blaise said, and added, looking almost nervous, "Would it be all right if I came along?"

"Came where?" asked Hermione, pulling her hood back up. "To school?"

"I want to see Draco, if I can," Blaise said. "I don't know if he can have visitors, but…"

"Of course you can come," Ron said shortly, before anyone else had a chance to reply. "You can ride in the carriage with us."