Кассандра Клэр: Draco Veritas

“Huh.” Ron looked unconvinced. “Well, don’t think you’re going to get another chance to drool all over her today, Malfoy. She’s gone off with Fred and George for a beach holiday, and I’m not going to tell you where, either.”

Draco looked as if he were about to say something rude back when the kitchen door swung open again. It was Narcissa this time, dressed in pale gray, a worried expression on her face. She stepped into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind her.

“Boys,” she said, gently, looking from Draco to Harry, “Dumbledore’s come to see you. He and Severus are waiting for you in the study.”

Sorry I burned your note, Harry said, as he and Draco left the kitchen —

Blaise and Ron looking after them with confusion, and Hermione with large, sympathetic eyes — and headed for the staircase that led to the Manor’s second floor. I panicked.

I could tell. Draco’s inner voice sounded dry and somewhat remote, a sea-change from the dramatic, ebulliently woeful tone he’d taken just a few minutes ago in the kitchen. “It’s all right. Look, would you mind coming with me to my room? I don’t fancy facing Snape and the Headmaster in my pajamas.”

“At least they’re silk,” Harry said. It makes me nervous talking about Snape and Dumbledore out loud. I always have the feeling they’re listening.

“We don’t have to talk about them, then,” said Draco flatly. They’d reached his bedroom door; he reached for the knob.

We don’t need to use our voices —

“No,” said Draco. His gray eyes were coolly thoughtful. “I think it’s about time we got used to not being able to do that any more.” He vanished into his bedroom before Harry could say anything back to that, and Harry was left to fidget aimlessly in the corridor for several minutes before Draco reappeared, now in a dark blue pullover and jeans. Something sparkled on the sleeve of the pullover, but he turned away and began walking down the hall before Harry could see what it was.

He did, however, hurry to catch up. “Look, before we go in there, do you want to talk about this?”

“If there was anything to say, we would have talked about it already,” said Draco. This sturck Harry as an infuriating tautology, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to it. They had reached the study door; it was open by a crack. Draco knocked once and pushed it open.

Harry followed him inside. He rarely came into this room. It reminded him of Lucius, of the day Lucius had brought him in here and offered him the antidote for the poison that was killing Draco, in exchange for the Worthy Cup. It didn’t look much different now — clearly Narcissa had changed nothing in the room. There was the big mahagony desk, the sideboard with the brandy decanter standing on it, now covered in dust, and the box beside it that had held Lucius’ tobacco. But behind the desk now sat Dumbledore. The light that filtered through the narrow windows caught the bright sparks that shone off the rims of his spectacles, but his face was in shadow. Behind him stood Snape, looking more like a dark crow than he ever had before, his face a narrow white line between the parted halves of dark, greasy hair.

“Harry,” said Dumbledore warmly, “and Draco. Good to see you both.

Please, have a seat.” He indicated two high-backed chairs that had been placed in front of the desk. Harry lowered himself into one; Draco remained standing, just beside the other one, and Harry had a feeling he too was remembering facing his father in this room. “You remember,”

Dumbledore said, templing his hands beneath his chin, “of course, why you’re here.”

“This is about the antidote,” Harry said, as Draco seemed inclined to remain silent. “To the Polyjuice Potion.”

“That is correct. Severus?” said Dumbledore, and Snape stepped forward and set two large glass vials of a brownish solution on the desk.

“These,” Snape said, “have been designed precisely to reverse the results of the potion you took last year. The effect should be close to instantaneous. I will of course by standing by in case there are any problems, though I anticipate none.”

“Nor any side effects?” asked Dumbledore, with a raise of his white eyebrows.

“None. This potion is quite perfect, I assure you.” Snape reached forward and snapped the lids off each of the vials. “I have measured out the correct amount for each of you. It would be best if you swallowed them at the same time, or at least within the same minute.”

Harry looked at Draco for his reaction, but Draco was simply staring at the vial in front of him, his grey eyes winter-bleak. There was no curiosity in them, nor really even any resignation, just a sort of blank acceptance. A sort of concern registered on Dumbledore’s face. “You may take a moment if you like, to prepare yourself,” he said. “Mister Malfoy, I hope you will pass on to your mother my compliments for what she’s done with this house. I was at Malfoy Manor once as a boy myself, and I recall thinking that for a structure so grand, there was precious little homelike or beautiful about it. That has certainly changed.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along, Headmaster,” said Draco, with perfect politeness, and reached for the vial that was on his side of the desk. Very slowly, he turned to look at Harry, almost as if he were being dragged around by the shoulder by some unseen force and made to look at him.

“Shall we then, Potter?” he said, and indicated with a wave of his hand the vial that stood swirling and smoking on the desk in front of Harry. Harry was reminded forcefully and suddenly of Lucius, in this same room holding a very different vial, and with a very different expression on his face than Draco’s, though they shared the same beautifully modulated, aristocratic voice.

Harry reached for his vial. It was cool to the touch, despite the smoke rising from the surface of the liquid, and smelled — well, rather like Polyjuice Potion, though undercut by something sour, like lemon juice or vinegar. He looked back at Draco, half expecting a sort of mordant cheer, perhaps a raise of his vial in a macabre toast, but Draco only stared down at his hands and Harry was reminded of the look on his face when Draco had kissed his cheek just outside the castle in Romania, kissed him and said, “Te morituri salutant.”

“Are you ready, then, Potter?” said Snape, in his slippery-cold voice, dry as snake scales. “The Headmaster and I do not have all day.”

“That’s all right, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “Harry, you look troubled. Is everything all right?”

Harry raised his head. “Yes,” he said, and saw Draco shoot him a look, narrow and thoughtful and surprised. “Yes, everything’s all right. I was just making up my mind about something.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “And have you reached a decision?”

“Yes,” said Harry. He leaned forward and set the vial back down on the desk. Then he stood up. “It’s awfully kind of you to go to all this trouble to create a reversal for the Polyjuice spell,” he said. “But all the same, I don’t think I want it. I’m sorry for having wasted your time.”

“But —“ Dumbledore began, sounding bewildered.

“You can’t refuse the potion!” Snape interrupted, looking shocked.

“Headmaster —“

“Actually,” said Harry, “I think you’ll find I can refuse it. I’m seventeen — an adult. And I’m no longer a student at Hogwarts, Professor Snape, so I think you’ll also find that you have no real authority over me.”

Snape muttured something darkly in response to that, something that was only audible to Dumbledore, who sighed.

“Technically, Harry, you are correct,” he said. “Neither of us have any real authority over you. But I think you’ll agree with me, won’t you, that I have always looked out for your best interests?”