Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Hermione had fled somewhere, Cloak in hand, Harry had gone off to wait for Draco, and Ron — well, she didn't know where Ron had gone, but he'd scarpered pretty quickly as soon as they'd arrived back at Hogwarts. Not that she minded; she'd heard Harry tell Hermione that Draco and Seamus had been taken to Dumbledore's office, and she'd headed there without a moment's thought.

A quarter hour later and she was still waiting. A vague and displaced sense of guilt assailed her. She felt as if somehow the fight were her fault.

Probably because she had been its catalyst, however unwilling. The worst part, she thought wretchedly, was that some part of her, some small part, had liked the fight…she'd never thought Seamus had it in him to get quite so passionately angry, and as for Draco — She broke off and looked up as the door to Dumbledore's office opened, wondering which of them it would be, or if it would be both of them. It was Seamus. She felt her mouth sag open a little bit — she hadn't realized quite how bad he would look. She hadn't seen most of the fight, and had somehow assumed that it was, had been, mostly staged and not sincere.

But Seamus' injuries looked quite sincerely inflicted. The skin around his left eye was bright purple, and his bottom lip was swelled up to twice its normal size. “Oh,” she gasped, involuntarily. “Seamus…”

He glanced down at himself. His white shirt and gray sweater were spattered with blood. “Yeah,” he said. “Not so pretty, huh. I should get to the infirmary.”

“You look great,” she said firmly.

Seamus snorted, then winced as if this had been painful. “I do not,” he said. “I look like I've been playing tonsil hockey with a paper shredder.”

Ginny laughed. “Well, you're still making jokes,” she said. “So I'm not so worried about you any more.”

Now he did look at her. “You were worried about me?”

“Well, yes,” she said. “I mean — look at you.”

“I thought you said I looked great.”

“I lied,” she said. “You look horrible.”

He looked as if he would have smiled, if he'd been able to. Something tugged at her. He looked so different like this. Bruised up of course, and bloody, and it gave him a slightly dangerous air that he'd certainly never had before. Even his voice sounded different…“Remind me why I hang around you again,” he said.

“Because,” Ginny said, and went up to him, and put her hands on his shoulders. “Of this,” and she kissed his chin, “and this,” and she kissed his cheekbone where the bruising wasn't too bad, “and this,” and she very gingerly kissed his mouth.

He looked at her wide-eyed, and touched her face lightly with the tips of his fingers. “I thought —” he said. “I figured you'd be angry.”

“I'm not. It was Draco's fault.”

“Yeah, but everything you said before —”

“Look, Seamus—“

“About not wanting me to protect you —”

“I know, but —”

“And I don't want you to think I don't respect that, because —”

“SEAMUS!” she yelled, and he broke off, startled, and stared at her.

She took a deep breath before she spoke, but when she did, her voice was firm.

“I want to go to Ireland with you,” she said.

Harry looked up as the door to the fencing room opened, and Draco came in. Harry hopped down off the table and came towards the other boy, smiling. “I wasn't sure you'd make it,” he said. “You're pretty late.”

“Sorry,” said Draco, shutting the door behind himself. He was still standing in the shadow and Harry could see only the outline of him, and the faint glint of silvery hair in the darkness. “I got detention. And I had to do some quick talking…and a little bit of kissing."

“Dumbledore made you kiss him?” Harry snorted. “Malfoy, what kind of detention did you get?”

“Not Dumbledore,” Draco clarified. “He was actually pretty understanding. Blaise, however…she wasn't.”

“Blaise?” Harry bit his lip. “You know, I forgot all about her.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “Apparently so did I.” He sighed. “She was waiting for me when I got back to the dungeon. So was everyone else as a matter of fact. I had to do some quick talking.”

“She forgive you?”

“Not exactly,” Draco hedged. “I promised to talk to her about it as soon as I got back from detention.”

“I'm detention now?” Harry suggested, a laugh building under his voice.

“You know, you didn't tell me you were going to punch Seamus in the face.”

“You wouldn't have let me,” said Draco, finally coming forward into the light. As he did, Harry saw that he had the beginnings of an impressive black eye, as well as a cut across one cheek. Oddly, it suited him. Only Draco, Harry thought wryly, could manage to give the impression that he had gotten up in the morning, decided a black eye might add to his ensemble, and punched himself in the face. His shirt was also ripped where he had skidded across the floor on broken glass, and even that looked intentional. “Anyway, it wasn't like I planned it,” Draco added. “It came to me in a flash of inspiration, you might say.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

Draco grinned. “You told me to create a distraction.”

“You,” said Harry, “have been wanting to belt Seamus in the face for weeks. You think I can't tell?”

“Oh, come on,” said Draco. “Don't you ever want to belt Seamus in the face? He's so damn smarmy.”

“No,” said Harry. “I happen to like Seamus.”

“No accounting for tastes,” said Draco. “Did you want to practice, or not?”

Harry nodded. “Sure I do. It's been a while.” He went back to the table and retrieved his sword, and when he turned back to Draco, Draco already had Terminus Est in his hand and was looking down at it almost quizzically. His face was oddly blank, expressionless, his eyes shining with a strange light. “Malfoy…?” Harry said.

Draco looked up quickly, his gray eyes lighting. “Yeah. Sorry,” he said, came forward, and met Harry in the center of the room. They saluted each other and moved apart, and then back together, Draco advancing, Harry backing away and parrying as he did so. He wondered if there would ever be a time he wouldn't hear Draco's voice in the back of his head as long as he had a sword in his hand. He had been quite patient in the beginning, explaining attack and recovery, parries and lunges. But Harry knew perfectly well he'd never have become as good as he had, as quickly as he had, if some measure of Draco's own knowledge and skill hadn't bled over to him through the Polyjuice Potion.

He slitted his eyes now as Draco came forward quickly with a beat-feint-feint-thrust. Harry riposted swiftly, then began retreating, drawing Draco out. Draco knew what he was doing; Harry could tell by his smile, but they were just practicing so it hardly mattered. Often they simply went on and on and on, until both or one of them tired, with nobody winning. Now Draco ducked and tried to get through Harry's guard, low-line, and Harry smiled at the anticipated move and replied with a stop-thrust which the other boy should have been expecting — but Draco did not move at all to block the thrust and Harry, realizing this almost a split second too late, wrenched his arm to the side. The blade made a sound like a whisper as it opened a slash along the side of Draco's sleeve. Harry, nearly overbalancing, crashed into Draco, who caught him and pushed him away, steadying him.

Harry jumped back as if Draco's touch burned him. He realized he was shaking and the hand that gripped the hilt of his sword was slick with sweat. “Draco,” he said. “What — why did you — I could have killed you, why didn't you block me?”