Кассандра Клэр: Draco Veritas

Charlie took a step back into the shadows. Seven years of sneaking around the Hogwarts´ professorś offices instantly overcame five months of being a Hogwarts Professor. He froze where he was, and listened.

"I think I should call him into my office," Dumbledore said.

"He won´t like that."

"No. But the situation is worsening. The risk of betrayal — "

"We don´t know that that risk exists!"

"It does exist, Severus. You, of all people — "

"Perhaps you should call Potter into your office instead."

"We´ve gone over this." Dumbledore sounded tired. "If we tell him, we are risking an unprecedented tragedy, possibly needlessly, and I — "

Dumbledore broke off as he and Snape rounded the corner of the corridor, and stepped into full view. His eyes met Charlieś, and for a moment, there was almost a flash of concern in them. Then he smiled.

"Hallo, Charlie," he said.

"Oh. Hello, Weasley." Snape gave Charlie a very unpleasant look. Charlie had a feeling Snape knew he had been listening.

Dumbledore, however, only beamed at him. "Can I help you with something?"

Charlie looked down at the parchment in his hand: his proposal for the dragon class. It suddenly seemed very far away. He held the papers out towards the Headmaster, muttered something about "dragons", "permission", and "very unlikely to eat anybody," and left with his head still spinning.

Risk. Betrayal. Tragedy. What was going on?

"This is getting ridiculous," said Hermione disapprovingly. She was holding a damp sponge in one hand and applying it to the corner of Harryś left eye, which had stopped bleeding several minutes ago. "Is it really so important that you two keep pretending you hate each other?"

"Yes," said both Harry and Draco in unison. Then, in unison, they grinned, Draco slightly painfully due to the blue-black bruise rising on one cheekbone.

"I mean, itś gotten to the point where not only will Madam Pomfrey not fix your battle scars, but sheś even forbidden me to do it!" Hermione threw up her hands in despair. "Can´t you at least not hit each other so hard?"

Harry tried to hide his amusement. "Yeah, Malfoy, you´re supposed to pull your punches."

"Me? What about you? You kicked me in the shin!"

"I slipped on the ice and my foot accidentally went into your shin."

"Twice?"

There was a rap on the door, and then it opened, admitting Ronś bright red head. He peered around the broom closet they were using as a temporary infirmary. It wouldn´t do for anyone to see Hermione treating Harry and Dracoś wounds. "Success," he said, slipping inside. "Everyone believed the fight, and they´re all talking about it in hushed tones. That whole 'signing up for the same time for practice´ business worked really well." He jerked his chin at Harry. "You better get back to the pitch though, they´re waiting for you."

"Urgh," said Harry, wincing and touching the edge of his wounded eye.

"You don´t want to captain, Ron, just this once?"

"No," said Ron firmly. "I don´t want them thinking Malfoy did you any serious damage. Besides, the Slytherins are all still lurking around, looking like they want a fight."

Draco looked pleased. "As they should."

"Blaise Zabini looks particularly threatening," Ron added.

Everyone looked at Draco, who cocked his eyes towards the ceiling, his expression neutral. "Well, she is my girlfriend."

"Thanks for reminding us," said Harry. "I think I might have otherwise missed the point when she threw herself at me screaming 'You hit my boyfriend! I hate you!´"

"Yes," said Draco noncommittally. Everyone kept staring at him. He continued to look expressionless. Nobody understood how he and Blaise had started dating, how serious they were, or in fact, if he even liked her.

Talking to Draco when he did not want to tell you something, Hermione reflected, was liking trying to converse with a particularly uncommunicative wall.

"All right," said Harry finally, standing up. "I guess we´d better get back."

He nodded over at Draco. "Next time, you win. We have to keep it even."

"Right." Draco touched the tips of his fingers to his temple in a mock salute, and Harry headed for the door.

"Wait a second," said Hermione, and he paused. "Aren´t you forgetting something?" and she lifted up her face to be kissed.

"Oh, right," said Harry, and reached around her to grab his Firebolt from a peg on the wall. "Thanks."

He left, followed by Ron. Hermione stared after them in disbelief. "I-," she began, and then her face crumpled. "Argh!" she exclaimed, and she threw the bloodstained sponge she had been holding at the wall. "Honestly!"

Draco ducked the sponge and came up looking sympathetic, or at least as sympathetic as he ever did, which meant that he wasn´t smirking. "He still doing it?"

"All the time," said Hermione, her face a mask of unhappiness. "He just acts like I don´t exist. I can´t remember the last time he walked me to class, or…" her voice trailed off. "And when I try to talk to him about it he just says I´m imagining things and that heś busy. I know heś busy…what with being Quidditch captain, and Auror classes, and thatś why he turned down being Head Boy, but…"

"But you´re not imagining things?" Draco finished for her.

"I don´t think I am," she said.

"You´re not," he said quietly.

She looked at him, and bit her lip. She knew he meant it. He didn´t lie.

"What is it?" she said in a tiny voice. "Is there somebody else?"

Draco said, "I don´t know. I doubt it."

"Then what?" Her voice cracked. "Can´t you ask him?"

Draco looked down at his hands, and then up at her, and she read the reply in his face. The odd sympathy of thought and feeling that had tied them together the summer remained with them, although it was harder to call up than it had been. She knew what he was feeling — desire to do this for her, the wish that she not be unhappy, the fear that whatever the answer was, it would hurt her, and the knowledge that however much she wanted it, he could no more extract information from an unsuspecting Harry only to betray that information to her than he could fly without a broomstick.

It was more complicated being Draco, she reflected, than he was often given credit for.

"I´m sorry," she said. "I shouldn´t have asked."

"He loves you," said Draco. The look in his eyes was distant. The dark green of his Quidditch robes should have made him look sallow, but it didn´t. It brought out the winter pallor of his skin, his eyelashes so black against it, eyes as clear and gray as mirrors. He looked like an angel, she thought, although one of the heavenly kind or one of the fallen sort, it was hard to be sure.

She remembered him at the Manor, reaching around her throat to fasten her necklace. I waited so long to hear you say that…if things were different…

She shook her head to clear it. She was thinking these thoughts because she was unhappy and because Harry seemed as cold and as remote from her these days as a Durmstrang glacier. "How do you know?" she asked.

"I think I would know if he stopped," said Draco simply. "Heś always loved you…it would be a reversal of everything he is." He leaned forward then and touched her cheek with his fingertips. "You know as well as anyone what heś been through," he said. "Just try to talk to him…" He sighed and dropped his hand. "Forget it. Itś not in my nature to give advice to the lovelorn. Ask someone with a more successful romantic life, thatś my suggestion."

"You´ve got a girlfriend," Hermione pointed out.

"Right." Draco sat back, his mouth twisting into something that might have been a smile, or not. "So I do."

The late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the small window in Hermioneś room, throwing a square of dark gold light onto the bedspread where Ginny sat, watching Hermione rearrange her books.