Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

“I don't want any jewelry, Draco,” she said, cutting him off.

“Then what do you want, darling?” he said, chancing an endearment.

It worked; she almost smiled. “When I was a little girl,” she said, “I always wanted a pony to ride.”

He laid his hand against her cheek. Her skin was soft under his touch, her eyes enormous and lambently green. She was gorgeous — probably the prettiest girl he'd ever seen — and he felt nothing for her beyond a distant unfocused desire. “I bet I could help you make do without one,” Draco said softly into her ear.

Her eyelids fluttered down, her long lashes shading her gaze, and for a moment she rested her cheek against his hand. Then her eyes flicked back up to his face, and she stepped back and away from him, pushing his hands away. “I don't think so,” she said. “You don't get to touch me yet.”

Draco wasn't sure whether he felt snubbed or relieved. “Blaise…”

“Make me look like a fool again and I'll rip out your kidneys and wear them as earrings,” she said. “And that's a promise.”

“I thought you said Slytherins don't keep their promises,” Draco said.

“I'll keep that one,” she replied, and turned on her heel. “You can count on it,” and she stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Night had already fallen when Harry left the armory and trudged upstairs to Gryffindor Tower. He was late to supper, and was sweaty, tired and in need of a shower. He spoke the password (“Ashwinder!”) and stepped into the common room, which was filled with flickering firelight. His eyes lit up when he saw that the room was empty save for Ron, who was sprawled in one of the fat armchairs pulled close to the fire.

Ron looked up as Harry came into the room, and waved him over. Harry came and dropped into the armchair next to Ron's, and for a moment they sat and stared into the leaping orange flames in a companionable silence. It was Harry who spoke first. “Sorry I'm late,” he said. “I was —”

“With Malfoy,” said Ron. “I know. You had fencing practice.” He was looking into the firelight; the vivid flames painted a dark gold shadow over his already bright hair. “Hedwig brought something for you while you were gone,” he said, as if remembering something, and began rummaging beside the armchair. “I put it back here…”

“Thanks…where's Hermione?”

“She went off to stash that cup thing. Said she had a perfectly brilliant hiding place for it.” Ron sat back up, a small package in his hand, addressed to Harry. “Here you go.”

Harry sat up straight and took the package. “I'd almost forgotten I bought this,” he said, tearing it open.

Ron looked curious. “What is it, then?”

Harry smiled. “You want to see?” He had succeeded in getting the package open now, and tipped something out of it into his hand. He held the hand out to Ron, opening his fingers to reveal something that glimmered blue in the center of his palm.

Ron stared at it. “A ring?” he said. “I didn't know you cared.”

“It's not for you, pillock,” said Harry easily. “It's for Hermione, of course.”

Ron sat where he was, staring down at Harry's hand. He made no move to touch the ring. “Is that a sapphire?”

Harry glanced down at the delicately worked blue circlet in his hand. “No, it's Venetian gl—“

“Is it a Christmas present?” Ron interrupted.

Harry blinked, looking slightly flummoxed by this hard line of questioning. “Well, it is but it's also…” he hesitated. “I suppose it's an I'm-sorry present. Sorry for being distant, for being difficult — you know. What we talked about before.” He bit his lip. “I just want her to understand that my recent behavior doesn't have anything to do with whether I love her.”

He looked down at the clear blue jewel. “I guess I couldn't think of the right way to say it, so…”

“No.” Ron was shaking his head. “No. Harry. That's stupid.”

“Stupid?” Harry blinked at his friend, then very slowly closed his fingers over the small box, and retracted his hand. “Why is it stupid?”

“Because,” Ron said roughly. “Because you're supposed to give a girl an engagement ring when things are going well in the relationship, Harry, not when they're going badly.”

“It's not an —”

“It's manipulative,” said Ron, and then flushed to the roots of his red hair.

“Manipulative?” Harry echoed in disbelief. “Because I want to give Hermione something that I think she'd like, that's manipulative?”

“Tell me you're not trying to tie her to you,” said Ron. “Go on, say it. But I won't believe it.”

“She's my girlfriend,” said Harry. “We're already tied together. And frankly, I think you're being kind of an ass about this.”

“Am I?” Ron had begun tapping the point of his quill against his knee. As he spoke, he tapped it more quickly and with greater force. “When are you going to do it, Harry?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “I was thinking Christmas Day,” he said. “You know.

When people usually give Christmas presents.”

“It's not just an ordinary Christmas present,” said Ron. “I think you should wait.”

“Oh, really.” Harry's voice was irritable. “Why's that?”

“Look, Harry — it's a ring. And no matter what, you give a girl a ring, she's going to think you want to marry her —”

“Well, maybe I do want to marry her,” said Harry, then checked at the astonished expression on Ron's face. “Well, not bloody now, I'm seventeen, it would be ridiculous. But that doesn't mean that I —”

“Marry her?” Ron echoed, and there was a strange tense note in his voice.

“You can't.”

“What do you mean I can't?”

“Hasn't she talked to you lately? Don't you listen to her? Your relationship is falling apart!”

Harry stared at Ron. His jaw was set, his shoulders rigid. “And I suppose you think you know more about my relationship with Hermione than I do?”

“Bloody anybody would,” said Ron angrily, “the amount you pay attention!”

“You know what I think?” Harry burst out furiously. “I think you're jealous.”

Ron went white. “What?”

“Jealous. And you're hacked off because I haven't been around much lately. And yeah, I'm sorry. But this isn't exactly the way to show me the error of my ways, you know. Because all this is making me realize is why I don't want to spend time with you in the first place,” Harry added furiously. “So maybe you might want to take a second and be a bit more understanding instead of acting like you know what Hermione wants better than I do!”

“You think you know everything?” Ron threw back at him, and there was an odd hitch in his voice. “How much time have you spent with her these past months? I bet you couldn't tell me what classes she's taking. You've been so wrapped up in your little world, and you don't let anyone in except that fucker Malfoy, and if you don't see the way he looks at her you're stupider than you look.”

Harry shook his head. His eyes were brilliant with anger. “Nice try. I know you hate Draco and quite frankly, I couldn't care less. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, Ron. I am going to go upstairs now, and go to sleep, and on Christmas Day I'm going to give this ring to Hermione, and if you want to sit in the corner and glare at me, fine, but —”

“You're so stupid,” Ron said, and his voice came out ragged, on a half-tearful gasp. “You're so stupid —”

“Just shut up, Ron.”

“You think you could just ignore her and she'd sit there and wait for you to wake up and start paying attention again? You think she'd be willing to let you treat her like she didn't matter —”