Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

My whole body hurts."

"It should," said Draco, finishing the chocolate with a regretful air.

"Slytherin threw you into a wall. And you've got a black eye going there. Very sporty."

"Well, you look pretty unscathed," said Harry resentfully.

In answer, Draco held out his right arm, and pulled up his sleeve.

His right wrist was swollen and turning black and blue. "Sprained," he said flatly.

Harry whistled. "That looks like it hurts."

"No, it feels great."

"Shut up, Malfoy. You want me to fix it?"

Harry could have sworn that Draco hesitated momentarily. Then he sighed. "Sure. Go ahead and try."

Harry reached out and put the flat of his hand against Draco's wrist.

"Asclepio," he said.

Nothing happened.

Harry tried again. "Asclepio."

Nothing continued to happen. Harry shut his eyes, and put every ounce of energy and strength he had into focusing on thoughts of magic, magic and healing, focusing on the shape of the magic, the feel of it, shaping, it, bending it to his will. "Asclepio," he ground out, and opened his eyes to see a startled expression on Draco's face. He glanced down at Draco's wrist, and saw that the blue-black color had faded slightly, the swelling receding — but the wrist still looked far from normal.

Draco jerked his hand back and looked curiously at his wrist. "It almost worked," he said, sounding surprised.

"Let me try again," said Harry.

Draco shook his head, eyes amused. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

Harry opened his mouth to protest — and paused. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as if he'd just run a mile and he felt suddenly shaky and exhausted. "Something very strange is going on here," he observed, and looked up at Draco, who was watching him with a look of sympathy, but no surprise, in his gray eyes. "What do you know, Malfoy? Why was that so difficult?" Anxiety made his voice sharp. "Is there something wrong with me? If there is, tell me.

I'd rather know."

"If there's something wrong with you then there's something wrong with me as well. I tried about sixty spells before you woke up.

Nothing happened. It just made me tired. It was like trying to walk through a concrete wall." He glanced sideways at Harry; the light of the room made his light eyes look blue, and reminded Harry oddly of Ron. "It's not us. It's the room."

"What? How do you know?"

Draco sighed. "Because I know where we are. Oh, not in the sense of having the slightest idea, geographically, where we are, but I can tell you one thing — this room is a prison. A prison built to hold Magids."

He glanced at Harry, who was still looking bewildered. "It's the walls," he said. "Look at the walls."

Harry reached out and put a hand against one wall, which was cool and smooth and felt less like marble than he would have imagined.

Because of course, it wasn't marble. He looked back at Draco, a slowly dawning awareness in his mind.

Draco grinned, without any mirth. "I knew you'd get it eventually," he said. "What did Lupin tell us: the hardest substance in the world, repels magic, can't be crushed or broken-"

Harry shut his eyes. "Adamantine," he said. "We're in an adamantine cell."

Ginny had never seen the Burrow so full of tension. Mr. and Mrs.

Weasley were had come home, of course; in the kitchen a white-faced Mr. Weasley was in intense, whispered discussion with a large group of Aurors. Mrs. Weasley, having tearfully kissed and hugged a revived Ron and Ginny as well as Hermione, had retired to her room to lie down. Narcissa had returned to the Mansion, and Sirius had gone to the Ministry to help ascertain the identity of the fake Charlie Weasley.

"I can't believe that wasn't really Charlie," said Ron, still looking numb with shock. He was sitting on the living room couch next to Hermione, who, pale but composed, betrayed her tension only in the tight grip she was keeping on his wrist. Ginny sat next to them. "I can't believe we didn't realize it wasn't really Charlie."

"He made dinner," said Ginny in a nauseated tone. "And we nearly ate it. And he could have been anyone. A Death Eater. Wormtail.

Anyone." She clenched her fist. "I feel so stupid."

"When you look at someone, you just assume they are who they seem to be," said Hermione in a dead little voice. "I mean, I thought Harry was the person I knew best in the world, and it took me two days to figure it out when Draco was pretending to be him."

Ron seemed about to say something to this when the door opened, and Charlie walked in. He looked tired — there were shadows under his normally cheerful green eyes, and his red hair was in tousled disarray. "Hallo, all," he said tentatively.

Nobody moved.

"Look, it really is me this time," he said, sounding slightly annoyed.

They all stared at him. Ron frowned. No one spoke.

Charlie made an exasperated noise. "Right then, ask me anything," he said. "Ask me what Mum's favorite color is, or what Percy's favorite candy is, or-"

"What's my name?" Ron interrupted, looking slightly wild-eyed.

"What year is it?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Look, we're checking for Charlie here, not massive head trauma."

"What's my middle name?" Ron demanded.

"Aurelius," said Charlie promptly.

This got a reaction even from Hermione. "Aurelius?" she demanded, staring at Ron.

Ron looked defensive. 'What's wrong with Aurelius?"

"Well, for one thing it means your initials spell "RAW."

Ron looked as if this had not occurred to him. "I suppose that's true."

Charlie was now grinning a tired sort of grin. "Your middle name is

'Aurelius,'" he said to Ron. "Your favorite color is red but you hate maroon, when you were ten you cried because Mum wouldn't let you join a motorcycle gang and change your name to 'Kill Crazy' and last year you told me you thought the prettiest girl in school was — "

"All right," interrupted Ron, ears bright pink. "You're Charlie. Now belt up."

Charlie threw himself down into the armchair opposite Ginny and stretched out his legs. "You sure you don't want me to go on?" he grinned, but his expression turned serious as Mr. Weasleys entered the room, looking grave.

"I'm going to the Ministry," he said to Charlie. "There's twenty Aurors outside already the house and the AC is sending over twenty more. But I want you to stay here." His glance swept over Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and the implication was clear: Stay here and keep an eye on the kids. "You lot," he said to the three teenagers on the couch, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. "With forty Aurors outside, this should be the safest wizarding house in Britain.

But I want you three to stay inside. You're not to go outside for any reason, not even into the garden. Not until I come home and tell you otherwise. Understood?"

Ron looked at him, spoke for them all: "Understood."

Mr. Weasley looked as if he were swallowing past a lump in his throat, and nodded briskly. "All right, then," he said, and Disapparated.

Hermione stood up. "I'm tired," she said. "I think I'll go get in bed, do some reading." She looked at Ron. "Could I borrow a t-shirt or something to wear?"

Ron got to his feet after her. "I'll get you some pajamas from upstairs."

Ginny watched as her brother and Hermione walked up the stairs, and felt a sudden flash of an envy she had nearly forgotten. Ron, Harry and Hermione had always formed such a perfect little circle; no one else had ever been able to get in. Then Draco had come along and seemed to have effortlessly punched his way into the circle, and if he wasn't always welcome, there was certainly no question that he was going away any time soon. If nothing else, Hermione's sheer determination would keep him part of the group, and Ron and Harry would always, in the end, do whatever she wanted. But she, Ginny, often still felt as if she didn't quite belong, as if she were an outsider who had showed up at a party without being invited.