Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

Maybe you don't know, Harry thought at him. But what do you think?

Draco didn't turn around, but kept moving towards the opposite side of the room. Hermione's all right, he said. I feel it. I think Ron and Ginny are all right as well. Draco turned around, looked at him.

But I can't promise you anything.

I know. Harry couldn't have said why, but he felt that Draco was correct. Hermione was all right. Perhaps his mind was just telling him that because otherwise he might not be able to function, but he didn't think so. Malfoy — what about Charlie?

Draco paused in front of the wardrobe, his shoulders tensing.

Wincing a little from the ache in his back, Harry walked over to stand next to him. "Was it my imagination," he said to the back of Draco's head, "or were Charlie and Slytherin working together? As a team?"

Draco turned around and looked at him. "Yep," he agreed. There was finality in his calm gray eyes. "I practically expected them to go into a planning huddle."

"But that's just not possible," Harry argued. "Charlie wouldn't do that."

"I agree." Draco turned towards the wardrobe, jerked the doors open, looked inside. There seemed to be piles of dark cloth in there, as well as some glittering objects that might be jewelry. Draco began poking at them with an experimental finger. "I don't think that was Charlie." His voice, a little muffled, reached Harry's ears clearly.

Harry blinked. "Not Charlie?"

"Not Charlie," said Draco firmly, and then he gave a little shout of surprise or amazement, and exclaimed, "Potter. You've got to see this." He retracted his head from the wardrobe, grinning with sly amusement. "Look at this. Somebody left you a present," he said, and he held out something that flashed red and silver in the blueish light of the room.

Harry stared in amazement. It was a sword — Godric Gryffindor's sword to be precise, looking just as he remembered it — perhaps a little smaller, but that was because he himself had grown. He reached out and took it out of Draco's hand, running his own fingers over the smooth blade, the rubies in the hilt that formed the shape of a crouching lion.

"Why would he leave me this?" he wondered out loud.

"No idea. But I'll tell you one thing, this place is a lot nicer than I was expecting. Usually, your standard-issue dungeon is pretty grotty. Slime, worms, the howling screams of some poor bastard being tortured in the cell next to yours…" Draco shrugged. "The worst thing we seem to have to contend with here is the somewhat monochromatic color scheme. That, and the lack of food."

Harry, who had been growing increasingly aware of the rumbling in his stomach, was dismayed. "There's no food?"

Draco shook his head. "Not that I saw. And I've been over this room a few times."

Harry sighed. "I guess I wouldn't have trusted any food he provided for us anyway." Holding the sword carefully, he walked to the side of the room and threw himself down on a bench there to study it. A moment later Draco joined him, carrying his own sword. "Hey, Potter. I found a Scrumdidilyumptious Chocolate Bar in my pocket.

You want half?"

"Sure," replied Harry morosely. "Why not." He took half, and looked sideways at Draco, who was engaged in eating his portion of the candy. "I would have thought your busy little mind would've been ticking over possible escape plans by now."

Draco swallowed, and made a face. "Urgh. Lint. Look, Potter, there's no way out of this room."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well, there are no doors and windows, no secret passageways, no breaks in the stone anywhere, and on top of that-"

"I thought you were Cunning Plan Guy! What happened to Cunning Plan Guy?"

"I didn't say I hadn't come up with a plan. I have come up with a plan. I just don't think you'll like it."

"I might like it," said Harry, around a mouthful of chocolate.

"No," said Draco, "you really won't like it."

"Just because I'm a Gryffindor!" Harry said disgustedly. "It's not like I can't appreciate cunning plans, Malfoy. Haven't I gone along with at least six of your harebrained schemes already? Haven't I been there for you, taken your side — "

Draco grinned hugely. "This is turning into quite an ode to our relationship, Potter," he said. "Keep it up. I'm feeling all tingly."

Harry settled into a sulk. "That's probably just residual chafing from the leather trousers."

"Those fucking trousers," said Draco irritably. "I have a feeling that nobody is ever going to let me forget them, even though I only wore them once, even though it was against my will — "

Harry snorted. "Now I'm imagining Charlie holding you down and forcing the leather trousers onto you."

"Hey, that's your pervy little fantasy, Potter, not mine."

Harry glared at him. "Are you going to tell me your bloody plan, or not?"

"Fine,' Draco said. "My plan was this. We wait here for Slytherin to come and kill us, and when he does, we die horrible, screaming deaths. I was also planning to gout blood and perhaps dribble a bit while I expire. What do you think?"

Harry was furious. "That's your idea of a winning plan?"

"I thought it was the most likely option."

"I can't believe you're just giving up."

"I'm not giving up; I'm being realistic."

"You're giving up."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"This is a pointless discussion."

"But it does pass the time."

"I can think of better ways to pass the time."

"I didn't know your bread was buttered that way, Malfoy."

"What? Oh. Ugh, that is not what I meant. Even if my bread was buttered that way, you'd be last on my list, you're far too short and weedy."

"I'm the same height as you. I don't know…someone who dresses the way you do…all that attention you pay to your hair…"

"Paying attention to my hair does not make me gay. Paying attention to your hair, that would make me gay."

"I bet you do too pay attention to my hair," Harry said serenely.

"I do not. I couldn't even tell you what color it is."

Harry put down the remainder of the chocolate bar he had been gnawing on, and placed his hands over Draco's eyes. Draco jumped, and Harry felt the other boy's eyelashes brush against his palms.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

"Tell me what color my hair is," Harry said.

"I've no idea," said Draco, blinking furiously.

"Tell me and I'll give you the rest of my chocolate bar half. You're hungry, I know you are."

"Potter!" said Draco. "You're a sadist."

"Mmm," said Harry. "Chocolate. Come on, Malfoy. Think of it as an experiment in perception and recall."

"Oh, fine," said Draco irritably. "Your hair's black, and it wants cutting."

"Does it?" asked Harry curiously.

"Of course it does!" Draco's voice was animated. "I don't even know how you can stand going around with your hair looking like you got dragged nine ways through a Tangling Thornbush. And your hair isn't even actually straight, you know, or it wouldn't be if you cut it, it's just too long, and all that weight drags it down. If you cut it, it'd be quite nice and probably curl a bit and you know, I can feel you staring at me, Potter. Stop it."

"I'm not staring. I'm just thinking that perhaps my hair isn't the only thing around here that isn't actually straight."

"Bah!" Draco batted Harry's hand away with an annoyed grunt. "You are a Philistine. You know nothing."

"At least I'm not in denial," said Harry, and handed Draco the last piece of chocolate.

Draco accepted it with a disdainful look. "Me, gay? Draco Malfoy?

Madly loved by all women over the age of twelve? Six times already on The Teenage Witches' 'Most Eligible" list? Author of the best-selling autobiography "Why I Like to Do It With Girls?' I think not."

"Stop. You're making me laugh. And that makes my stomach hurt.