Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Harry's eyes lit up. "Oh, right — so do I." He looked thoughtfully at the glasses, and shrugged. "It'll get them — it's just too bad they don't play 'I May Be A Tiny Chimney Sweep…'"

Having arranged for the glasses to be owled over to the Manor at the appropriate time, the trio headed for Fred and George's. The twins had really outdone themselves with their decorations for the factory. Illusion spells has transformed the huge main room into a jungle landscape, complete with jobberknolls, a fwooper, a jungle gnome and swinging jarveys. There were fountains of wine, lakes of chocolate, and dangling green vines that, on closer, inspection, turned out to be green-apple licorice. The leaves of the trees were spearmint leaves (and if, nibbled on, would turn the unwary muncher into a cricket for five minutes. The room was full of annoyed chirping.) Silver platters covered with sweets floated by at intervals — Hermione passed up a Snogberry Cordial on the theory that it was probably better to save the snogging for the end of the evening. Terry Boot and Padma Patil were taking turns bungee-jumping into a Bottomless Pit which had been rented for the occasion. Ron wanted to try it out, but Harry shook his head. "Falling into a Bottomless Pit once is good enough for me," he avowed.

The main attraction of the evening, to everyone's surprise, turned out to be Oliver Wood, on holiday leave from his starring position as Keeper for Puddlemere United. Oliver was one of the most celebrated young Quidditch players in the country, which didn't surprise anyone who had ever seen him play. It wasn't so much that he was talented — which he was

— but that he was grimly determined, and always had been.

Ron whistled at the sight of the huge crowd of giggling girls and starstruck boys gathered around Oliver, who was seated with Fred and George on a chair inside a floating pavilion draped with fiery curtains.

Jana and Angelina were both there as well, and to say that they seemed entirely unaffected by Oliver's presence would have been an exaggeration.

Both were blushing and smiling. George and Fred, who was eating an enormous color-changing lollipop, seemed bemused.

"Who would have thought Oliver would turn into such girl catnip?" said Ron, grinning as he picked a cup of hot buttered chocolate off a floating silver tray. "Fred and George used to say the only girl who would ever have a chance with him would be one with really skinny legs and big ears

— that way she could convince him that she was the Quidditch World Cup."

Harry cast a sideways glance at Hermione. "Are you going to leave me for Oliver Wood, then?"

"No," said Hermione, "but I might leave you for that table of chocolate over there." She arched up on her tiptoes and stared at the groaning tables of food and candy that stretched along the walls. There were white-chocolate snowballs, Snogberry Cordials, icicles spun out of clear sugar, and powdered-sugar Penguin Peppermints. Her stomach growled slightly.

"You ought to go say hello to Oliver, Harry — he was always so fond of you."

"But there's a huge crowd around him — " Harry began diffidently.

Hermione snorted. "He'll talk to you," she said firmly, and gave him a light push. "Go on, then."

Harry went, and Hermione headed over to the table to nab the last Never-Melting Ice Pop off a gold plate before Lavender Brown (who had already eaten three) could snag it. Ron, following her, made do with a sugared sardine. Hermione looked at him and wrinkled her nose. "How can you eat those things?"

"Practice," said Ron, and bit the sardine in half with flair.

"Blech," said Hermione, in a decided manner.

"Mmm. Scrummy." Ron grinned around the sardine. "I dare you to eat one."

"Ugh. No way."

"Come on." He held out a sardine, and she laughed and battled his hand away.

"You never ate that blood lollipop I dared you to in third year," she pointed out smugly.

"I licked it though." Ron shuddered. "I'm pretty sure that's what evil tastes like."

"Well, I'm not licking your sardine."

"No," put in Lavender, who had evidently been listening. "Harry wouldn't like that, would he?"

Ron choked on his candy.

"Lavender!" said Hermione, but Lavender had already sidled away with an evil grin. Hermione sighed and looked at Ron. "I don't think she's ever forgiven you for that Uranus comment," she said.

But Ron was looking past her, towards the pavilion floating on its lake of peppermint syrup. "Harry seems different," he said. "Better."

Hermione turned and looked where he was looking, and saw Oliver Wood standing up to give Harry a comradely hug. She noted with a pang that Harry was now taller than Oliver. "He is a bit better these days," she said.

"I just hope it lasts."

"Do you know why?" Ron's eyes were intent. "Did you say something to him?"

"Well, I said a little, but I really don't think it was me. I think it had something to do with Draco nearly getting himself killed. I think Harry's been trying and trying to focus on other things besides what's been bothering him, and that gave him something to focus on. You know how he is. He likes to have something to do, to feel like he's being effective.

Otherwise…"

"He freaks out," Ron finished.

"Right."

"Well, it's great that he's freaked back in. I just hope it stays that way."

"You don't sound very happy."

"I am," said Ron slowly, and she could tell that he was measuring his speech carefully, "but considering that he's spent six months refusing to tell me what's wrong, and stonewalling me when I ask him, color me pessimistic when I hear the problem's cured itself. He might be shoving it down for now, but it'll just come back later, whatever it is."

Hermione bit her lip and looked back at the pavilion. Harry had already left it, and was moving back towards them through the crowd. She had no trouble picking out his dark hair and blue-lined cloak even in the tight-packed throng. But then she had always been sure that she and Harry would be able to find each other in any crowd, that even at a costume ball they would know each other instantly, by touch or sound or instinct. She turned back towards Ron.

"It's not fair," she said, her voice low and fierce. "It isn't."

Sympathy flashed in his blue eyes. "I know," he said. "But you can't let that get in the way of your life, Hermione. Harry wouldn't want that."

Wouldn't he? she thought, as Harry came to stand beside her, and clasped her hand with his. Wouldn't he, though?

Draco stood at the castle's front door and watched the seventh-years leaving, until the grounds were empty and he could once again hear the wind. Then he turned, and went back inside. There was a certain lonely gloom to the entrance hall once all the students were gone, despite the festive decorations. The only person there was Pansy Parkinson, clutching a large red-ribboned green gift box. She glared when she saw Draco, and disappeared down the stairs that led to the Slytherin dungeon, her booted feet crunching on the discarded bits of tinsel and confetti that littered the floor.

Draco looked after her, shrugged, and headed towards the double doors in the far wall. They swung open to let him through, and he walked into the Great Hall at last.

The Yule Ball started before the Pub Crawl did, so it looked to Draco as if the meal had already been eaten, and the dancing had begun. Each year the decorations were much like the year before: glowing lights, glittering taper candles, rows of pear trees in whose branches chirping partridges fluttered their pale wings. Brightly wrapped crackers floated about six feet off the ground (Weasley would have banged his head into one, Draco thought) and every once in a while there was a muffled, fiery explosion when a student picked one out of the air and pulled it apart, filling the air with flower petals, tiny sweets, or a shower of toys.