Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"Finnigan, you'd lose a battle of wits with a dead monkey," said Draco, sounding weary. "If you want to hit me, hit me. But quit with the attempts at repartee. It's painful."

Seamus' mouth twitched. Then he rolled up his sleeves — an almost quaint gesture — and began to walk toward Draco. Draco kept his arms at his sides, his eyes still on Harry. He wore an expression of amused detachment. He wasn't going to hit Seamus back; that much was obvious.

Even without being able to read Draco's mind, Harry could tell what Draco was thinking — this was Harry's dormitory, his place, his responsibility to do something. Draco didn't plan on doing a thing.

Harry sighed. He felt suddenly exhausted, tiredness welling up within him like blood welling from an open cut. "Let him alone, Seamus," he said quietly, and sat up.

Seamus, looking astonished, half-turned to look at him. "What?"

"I said let him alone," said Harry in a dead-tired tone. He looked at Seamus, and Seamus did a double-take, as if what he saw in Harry's expression had shocked him. "He has a right to be here."

"So you want to talk to him?" Seamus asked, very quietly.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I guess I do."

Draco smiled: a cocky, sideways smile. "In that case…"

Harry started to get to his feet. "We can go down to the common room — "

"No." It was Neville. "There'll be people there." He looked at Dean, and then at Seamus. "We'll go."

Dean looked miffed. "We will?"

"Yes," Neville said, and cast a pointed, sideways look at Harry. "I admit I don't know what this is about, but it's obviously important. So we'll go, and we'll come back later."

"We will?" said Dean again, now sounding gloomy.

"Yes, we will," said Neville firmly, took hold of Dean by the back of his pajama top, and marched him towards the door. After a moment Seamus, having cast a considering look at Draco and Harry, followed them. They all three went out, and the door shut behind them.

"Typical," said Draco, turning back to Harry. "No Slytherin would give up a night's sleep just so his dorm mate could work out his interpersonal problems."

"It doesn't matter," said Harry, still feeling bone-weary, "just tell me whatever the hell you came here to tell me, and go away."

"I already told you," said Draco, crossing his arms across his chest, "and you didn't believe me."

"Because I — "

"Which," Draco went on as if Harry hadn't spoken, "considering I'm the one person in the world who cannot lie to you, is pretty damn ironic."

Harry paused. There was a note of sharp bitterness in Draco's voice that Harry had rarely heard there. "How," he began, and paused again -

something seemed to have caught in his throat — "how do you know they aren't — that it's not true?"

Draco sighed, and looked down at Harry. Had Harry been in another mood, he would have noticed how tired and drawn the other boy looked: his eyes swam in blue hollows, and there were dark lines of strain by his mouth. "I can tell you so you'll have to believe me — "

"No. No. I don't want anyone else in my head."

"Fine, then." Draco sat down on the trunk at the foot of Harry's bed. "I know because I saw it for myself, all right? I saw Ron with the girl he thought was Hermione. Of course, it wasn't Hermione. You know how I know that? Because the actual Hermione was standing next to me at the time." Draco gave a short bark of laughter and looked up at the ceiling.

"You honestly think she'd ever do that to you?" he demanded. "You honestly think she'd even want to?"

Harry looked at him, but he was hearing Ron's voice in his head. I'm in love with Hermione, and she's in love with me. "And you're so sure…"

"Of course I'm sure. I told you why I'm sure. I'm absolutely, utterly sure.

Ron's been shagging someone, but it isn't and never was Hermione.

Someone's playing bloody tricks on all of you, I promise you that. Now do you believe me?"

Harry looked down at his hands, and said nothing. He wondered when he had started biting his nails again. Bitten they certainly were, down to the bloody cuticles. He curled his fingers in protectively against his palms.

Draco's voice tightened. "Potter? Why would I lie?"

"You might," Harry said. "If she asked you to."

The whiplash crack of the other boy's anger struck Harry like a blow, even though he had closed his mind off as best he could. He flinched back as Draco's inner voice cut into his thoughts, And would I lie if you asked me to? Is that what I do — lie at the behest of others? Have I so little will of my own?

"Don't." Harry scrambled to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides.

I'm telling you what I saw! The girl he thought was Hermione, wasn't Hermione. I don't know who she was — "Stop it!"

Draco nearly tipped off the trunk in exasperation. "I'm telling you! I saw it for myself! Why can't you listen? Isn't this what you want to hear?"

"It's exactly what I want to hear!" Harry shouted back. "That's why I can't listen!" He spun away from Draco, and faced the wall. There was a tightness in his chest, as if something was constricting his breathing. A yell of anger was pressing against the inside of his ribcage, choking him, struggling to get out. "I don't trust this," he said. "I can't trust this. I don't trust anything any more."

"She never lied to you — "

"He did, then." Harry stayed where he was, staring at the wall. "What about Ron?"

There was a long silence. When Draco spoke, finally, it was in a low voice.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry."

Harry noted, vaguely, the use of his given name. He supposed it ought to make him feel more kindly towards Draco. It didn't. Rage was beginning to crash against the inside of his head, in rhythmic waves like the ocean crashing against the shore. "You didn't really think about that, did you,"

Harry said in a hissing half-whisper. "You never even tried to like him, or treat him kindly, not even for my sake. I bet all this makes you glad." He spun around then, and glared at Draco, who had gone a chalky sort of color and looked appalled. "How am I supposed to believe what you say, when you'd never let yourself believe she'd do that — not for a second.

Because you could stand to see her with me, but you could never stand to see her with Ron. Maybe you even like her being with me, because it's the closest you'll ever get to being with her yourself. But Ron, you've always hated him, you think he's beneath you — you always have — she'd be dirty if she let Ron touch her — admit it! Admit you felt that way! — and maybe if you didn't, maybe if I hadn't let you treat him like that, he wouldn't have felt like I wasn't his friend any more! Like I picked you over him! And I never picked you, Malfoy — I never picked you! Whatever there is between us, it was forced on me — I never wanted it!"

His voice broke on a half-shout, and cracked, although he was not crying.

He felt a bleak triumph. He had been hurt, and terribly. He wanted to hurt someone back. And judging from the way Draco had flinched away from him, he was succeeding in doing just that. "I never got a choice," he said again, harshly — and then broke off, staring at the other boy. Draco's eyes were huge in his white face, huge and startled. He looked very like a child who has reached for a parent's hand, only to be slapped away with no explanation. And Harry fell silent, realizing suddenly that he had hurt Draco nearly as much as he had been hurt himself. More, perhaps. The feeling of satisfaction vanished instantly. "Malfoy, I — "

But Draco was on his feet, backing away from Harry's outstretched hand.

"Fuck you, then, Potter," he said, his voice a serrated dagger of ice. "You want me to leave you alone? Consider yourself left. Stay here and rot, for all I care. Ruin everyone's life. Ruin your own — " He broke off, as if he couldn't stand to look at Harry any more — spun around on his heel, and stalked to the door and out of it, slamming it hard behind him.