Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

She grinned. “Will you show me your action figure collection?”

Seamus looked airily at the ceiling. “I might do.”

“Have you got the Harry and Draco ones they made over the summer?”

Seamus nodded, his eyes glinting. “I've got two of the Malfoy one — one in its original packaging and one for decapitation purposes.”

”Seamus, that is just wrong.”

“I'll glue his head back on if you come to visit,” said Seamus contritely.

Ginny hesitated. “I don't know,” she said slowly. “I do have to check with my parents, but I can't see why they'd say no. I–I'll think about it, Seamus.” She checked herself as his blue eyes darkened. “But I want to — and I appreciate it. I really, really do.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, and then put her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. Of course, she thought, if the great museum caper didn't go as planned, she wouldn't be able to make it to Ireland anyway — not without a side-trip to Azkaban for a few years beforehand.

“You know, I've missed this,” said Ron in a conversational tone, as Harry tried the door of the Trophy Room.

“Missed what?” Harry asked, his mind only half on what Ron was saying.

The Trophy Room door tended to squeak when it was opened, and although Harry had the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket he didn't feel like using it. He pushed down slowly on the handle and the door slid soundlessly open. Harry slipped through, and turned to wait for Ron to follow him.

But Ron was lingering in the doorway. “Missed this,” he said, and gestured from himself to Harry and back again. “Missed you and me.”

Harry cocked his head to the side. “That's…” He chanced a tired smile. “I didn't know you cared.”

But Ron didn't smile back. He looked grave. “Maybe you don't know what I mean,” he said. “I mean us, sneaking around, going on missions, getting in trouble…like we used to.”

“We're not in trouble,” Harry said. He didn't know why he was refusing to acknowledge what Ron was really saying, but he was. “Although if you keep standing in the doorway…”

Ron's mouth tightened. He came into the room, and shut the door behind him. “Fine,” he said. “Let's get what we came for.” He walked into the center of the room and began industriously studying the display cases, behind which the rows of trophies, shields, and plaques gleamed dull gold and silver. Ron's hair gleamed too, a darkened bronze color in the half-light. The set of his shoulders was tense, and Harry knew of old that this meant Ron was feeling hurt. He knew why he couldn't acknowledge what Ron was saying…he didn't miss their loss of adventure the same way, because he had not really lost it. He still crept around school under the Cloak, still evaded the teachers to sneak off school grounds. He just did those things alone now. Alone, or with Draco.

He sighed. “Ron,” he said slowly. “I'm sorry. I know what you mean. I've missed it too, I've just been… caught up in other things.”

Ron glanced back at him. The faint light washed the blue out of his eyes.

“I've noticed,” he said. “I've offered before, but if you want to talk about it…”

Harry walked across the room, to the largest display case, and looked into it. There was the gold shield that bore his father's name, and his house and position: Gryffindor Seeker. “If there was something I could tell you,” he said, seeing Ron's face reflected in the display case glass, “I would.”

“Is it about Hermione?” Ron asked diffidently, looking down at his feet.

Harry twisted around to stare at him. “About Hermione?”

“Let's just say I can see why you're wearing your scarf indoors,” Ron said.

“The climate between you two is somewhat arctic.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “She feels neglected.”

“That would be one of those funny side effects of neglect,” said Ron. He raised his eyes from his shoes. “Do you not love her any more?”

Harry started, as if Ron had pricked him with a pin. “Do I not what?”

“You heard me.” Ron was looking at his feet again. “Sometimes you, ah, just stop feeling a certain way about a person, and there isn't anything you can do about it. But you should, you should tell her, because it isn't fair to make her wait around and wonder what's going on with you, and not tell her, and —”

“Is this sentence going to end anytime soon?” Harry said rather sharply.

Ron swallowed his next words, looking mutinous. “You should tell her,” he said again.

Harry shook his head. “If there was something to tell her,” he said quietly, “I would. But I love her, and I always will love her, and to tell her anything else would be a lie.”

Ron looked surprised, so much so that Harry in return was surprised. “But lots of people do…just stop feelings things,” he said. “Don't they?”

“Do I look like I've got the faintest idea what lots of people do?” Harry rubbed his hands over his face. He felt tired again. Tired and worn down.

“Look,” he said, more quietly. “I appreciate you looking out for Hermione, and for me as well. I know how it looks from the outside. I'm sure it looks bad. But of course I still love her. In fact sometimes I worry…”

“Worry what?” Ron said quickly.

“That she doesn't love me.”

“Oh,” said Ron, and then again, “Oh.” He paused. “I'm sure she does.”

“I know.” Harry raised his head and looked at Ron, really looked at him, for the first time in days. At the steady blue eyes, the set mouth, the familiar face. “It's just that I can't talk to her about my parents,” Harry heard himself say.

“Your parents?” Ron looked astonished. “Did something…happen with your parents?”

No, Harry thought acidly, they're still dead, thanks for asking. But he didn't say that. “Not exactly. I've been thinking about them a lot, and I guess that's what's been on my mind. And I know it seems like I should be able to talk to her about that, but I can't…and I'm not the only one who's been distant lately,” he added firmly. “She seems distant too. Distant and kind of…strange.”

“Strange?” Ron echoed.

But Harry didn't want to elaborate. His gaze had lit on what they had come to the trophy room for. “Hey, there it is.”

“There what — oh, right,” said Ron, and got down on his knees just as Harry did. Harry reached out and flipped open the glass case in front of him, and took out a tall bronze-colored cup, to the front of which was affixed a shield inscribed in flowing script: For Special Services To the School: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley. In the year 1992. “We going to use that?” Ron asked.

“Sure,” Harry said. “It's ours…we can use whatever we want. Hermione said something that looked as much like the cup in the picture as possible, and this does.”

Ron grinned. “I was kind of hoping we could use Tom Riddle's award for special services.”

Harry laughed. “Now that's a brilliant idea. But…Hermione said it had to be a cup.”

“Why? What's the difference? It's getting Transfigured anyway.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “but it has to be a very, very low-level transfiguration spell, because a stronger spell would set off the detectors in the museum.

So it'll start fading over time. The more it looks like what it's supposed to be, the longer it'll take anyone to notice.”

Ron shook his head. “Does anyone have all the details of this robbery plan besides Hermione?”

Harry shook his head, standing up. “No,” he said. “But I trust her.”

An odd spasm went across Ron's face. Then he smiled, and reached out and touched the cup in Harry's hand. “I remember when we got this,” he said. “Second year.”