Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"The sun's coming up," he added, his voice deceptively soft. "Shouldn't you…"

With a scream of rage and whirl of black hair, Rhysenn disappeared, vanishing without even the soft * pop * that usually accompanied a Disapparation.

Draco stood where he was, staring at the spot where she had disappeared.

There were no marks in the snow where her footprints should have been; it was easier to see that now, in the gathering light. The advent of the rising sun striped the far horizon with bars of rose and gold, sparkling over the icicles, over Draco's icy-colored hair.

"Hey," said Harry uneasily. Draco's set expression was unsettling, to say the least. "Malfoy… thanks."

"Thanks?" Draco jerked his head up and looked at Harry as if he were the most pitiful thing he had seen in a lifetime of pitiful things. "What was that? I never picked you for the easily-swayed-by-feminine-wiles type."

"I'm not," Harry replied. He wished he could be a bit more eloquent, but he was having trouble catching his breath. There was also a strange, whirling feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he'd just been dropped from a great height.

Draco rolled his eyes. "If I hadn't come back…"

Harry's stomach lurched. "I had it under control," he gasped.

"Oh, yes, that's what it looked like. Hey, with some luck, you could have drowned her in drool."

Harry's stomach lurched again, this time as if it were trying to turn itself inside out. He took a few staggering steps, nearly crashed into a tombstone, fell to his knees, and was violently and thoroughly sick on the grass. His body shook. He'd only been this sick once before, after drinking too much. Waves of nausea coursed over him, almost painful in their intensity. Finally they subsided, and he sat back on his heels, gasping in air.

"Hey." It was Draco's voice, much gentler now. Hands closed around Harry's upper arms, helping him up to his feet. "Harry…what happened?"

Harry shook his head. "I think…I need…some water."

Quickly, Draco produced his bottle of overpriced water from a coat pocket, and handed it to Harry. Harry drank most of it, then splashed the rest on his face and hands. It helped: his mind was starting to clear, and the world was coming back into focus.

"Can you stand up on your own?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded, rubbed a sleeve across his damp face. "I'm all right," he said. "Must have been all that jouncing around on the Knight Bus."

Draco released his hold on Harry's arm, looking thoughtful. "I don't think so. I think it was something to do with Rhysenn."

Harry laughed shakily. "I don't think she'd be too happy to hear that."

"Well, she seems to have a hell of an effect on you. I thought you were going to keel over and pass out before."

"I was trying to push her away," Harry said.

"Yeah," said Draco. "Maybe you were."

"I tried," Harry said again. "I tried, and I just couldn't. I wanted to, but…"

"Hey, you know, it happens to every guy," said Draco with mock sympathy.

Harry choked. "Oh, shut up, Malfoy."

Draco chuckled. "We should get out of here," he said. "The sky's getting light."

"All right," Harry said, and took a step towards him. Then he paused. "My gloves — and the bracelet. I left them back at the — back where we were."

Draco took hold of the back of Harry's jacket, steering while they walked back to the Potters' graves. Harry didn't mind the mild guidance; he was still a little shaky on his feet. "Bracelet?" Draco echoed.

"My runic band — I wear it on my belt. For good luck."

"Oh, right. That red band. Why'd you take it off?"

"No reason," Harry said shortly, stopping to pick the bracelet and his gloves up. Draco didn't press him, as Harry knew he wouldn't. He stood quietly as Harry gave the headstones one last look. Then he took the box containing the Portkey out of his pocket, and opened it. The Portkey glimmered silver in the morning light, for it was now full morning. He turned to Draco.

"Hold on to me," he said, and tipped the Portkey into his hand. The world upended itself, and then he was whirling away, shooting through a gray fog, Draco's hand knotted tightly into the back of his jacket.

Draco landed on a hard stone floor with enough force that he lurched forward into Harry, whose jacket he was still clutching. He let go and staggered back into an upright position, glancing around nervously.

They were in Lupin's office. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light that spilled in through the half-open windows, illuminating the desk piled with books, the chair pulled to the fireplace which was empty and cold. He glanced at Harry, who looked slightly dazed. "Put the Portkey back and let's go," Draco whispered urgently.

Harry dropped the box onto the table, but as he did so, there was a faint noise — Draco turned and saw that the handle on the office door was turning slowly, slowly -

Harry had gone white, and was staring at the door. My cloak — it's back in your room!

Draco grabbed the back of Harry's jacket again, and yanked him towards the fireplace. He pointed his left hand at the empty grate and muttered Incendio! Blue-white flames instantly wreathed the logs there; Harry, realizing what Draco was trying to do, grabbed the box of Floo Powder that rested on the mantel, and threw a liberal handful in. He leaped after the powder just as the door opened, and Draco followed him, grabbing onto Harry's jacket again so they wouldn't be separated. He heard Harry yell a destination as the powder spun them away, or at least he assumed that's what Harry was shouting — he couldn't tell. Other fireplace grates flashed by, some lit and some dark, and then the whirling forward propulsion of the Floo magic spat them both out like objects hurled from a catapult. They rolled across a painfully hard stone floor, finally fetching up against something hard. Draco heard Harry yell in pain. who lay sprawled on the ground in a pitifully coughing heap. Draco raised his head slowly, blinking away dizziness, and saw Harry looking back at him; Harry was covered with soot, his shirt and jeans blackened in long streaks, his hair matted with dust.

"You all right?" Draco asked, propping himself painfully on his elbows.

"I'm fine," Harry said, still coughing, "get your bloody leg off mine — ow!"

"Stop shoving," Draco replied irritably. "And stop waving your arms around — you're getting soot in my eyes."

"Well, good morning," came a bemused voice. "Nice of you two to stop by."

Both Draco and Harry whirled around and stared. Draco saw blue-jeaned legs first, then, as he trailed his eyes upwards, dark blue work robes, also dusted with soot, a pair of leather-gauntleted forearms, crossed over a broad chest, and a very disapproving face capped by a mop of bright red, instantly recognizable hair…

"Charlie," said Harry weakly, and then succumbed to another coughing fit.

Draco rolled away from Harry and scrambled up to his knees, his eyes flicking around their surroundings. They were in Charlie's office — he recognized the bright Romanian embroidery on the walls, the bucket of dragon food, and, in its iron cage on the desk, the dragon itself, looking very annoyed indeed that its morning feed had been cruelly interrupted.

"I can explain…" Draco began.

Charlie shook his head. Draco could see reflected in the mirror behind him exactly what Charlie was seeing — both boys covered in soot, Draco's hair black with it, their faces streaked, their boots muddy, both in Muggle clothes, both looking very guilty indeed. "You know what?" Charlie remarked in the general direction of the ceiling. "I don't want to know. I don't even want to know."

"Ron, eat something," Hermione said irritably, "you're giving me a headache, picking like that."