Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

Draco didn't know what those were, but would not have wanted to meet one in a dark alley. The last tapestry showed a coat of arms: a silver dragon, rampant, facing to the sinister. The banner that wove beneath its feet bore a motto in Latin: IN HOC SIGNO VINCES. Draco poked at it with his finger, and found the tapestry as cold as ice to the touch.

He backed away, looking over at Harry, who was still sound asleep, and a vague sense of unease flitted over him. He suspected that Harry might have a mild concussion — after Slytherin had Stunned Hermione, Harry had thrown himself at the dark wizard. Slytherin had promptly picked him up as if he had weighed no more than a kitten and thrown him headfirst against the opposite wall. At which point Draco could no longer quite recall what had happened. He had a feeling he and Ron had attacked Slytherin simultaneously, but his short-term memory seemed to be shot and he couldn't be sure.

Nor was he sure exactly what the symptoms of a concussion were.

Harry had certainly seemed lucid enough before, and now that he was asleep he was sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling with regular, shallow breaths. Of course, maybe sleeping soundly was a sign of a concussion. Suddenly uneasy, Draco got to his feet, went over to Harry, and jabbed a finger into his sternum.

"Ow!" Harry woke up with an indignant cry and fumbled for his glasses. "Malfoy, you creep. What was that for?" He sat up, looking injured, and rubbed at his solar plexus.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Potter."

"I can't," said Harry irritably. "I'm awake now." He put his glasses on and blinked at Draco. "What on earth are you wearing?"

Draco shrugged. "I changed into some of the clothes from the wardrobe over there."

"You're letting Salazar Slytherin dress you now?"

"Say what you will about the man — he may be a creepy, soulless, undead zombie with a weird thing for snakes, but he's got impeccable taste in clothing."

Any response Harry might have felt moved to give was cut off by a grinding noise coming from the vicinity of the opposite wall. Both of them spun around to see a dark opening appear in the wall, and a hand reach through it, holding something round and flat. There was a clang as it dropped what it was holding, and before the boys had time to do much more than stare in surprise, the hand was withdrawn and the dark opening vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

Draco darted over and knelt down by the dropped object, Harry following closely on his heels and looking curious. "What is it? A bomb?"

Draco shook his head. "Dinner." He grinned down at what had turned out to be a very ordinary-looking platter on which rested some sandwiches and a flask of water. "Cheese sandwiches, to be precise."

Harry looked mistrustfully at the food. "Malfoy, I don't think you should-"

"Oh, shut up. If he wanted us dead, he could have killed us while we were unconscious. You have thirty seconds, then I'm going to eat your half of the sandwiches."

Grumbling, Harry plonked himself down on the floor next to Draco.

For the next few minutes, they ate in semi-companionable silence. A small squabble broke out over who got to eat the last sandwich, eventually resolved by a furious and silent tug-of-war which resulted in both parties getting far more cheese on their robes than they got in their mouths. Draco was busy trying to make his last sandwich half last when Harry suddenly looked at him with round eyes. "Malfoy, I've just had an idea."

"Did it hurt?" asked Draco good-naturedly.

Harry scrambled up onto his knees, brushing bits of cheese sandwich off his shirt. "Get me angry," he said.

Draco choked on his sandwich. "Pardon?"

"You heard me. Like last time, with the case in Lupin's office. Get me angry, maybe we can break down the walls. I bet you've got something up your sleeve that would really annoy me; you always do."

Draco shook his head. "It wouldn't work. You're wise to it now. If I told you something, you'd just figure I was lying."

Not if you told me like this. You can't lie telepathically. Harry was grinning now, his hair sticking up wildly. He reminded Draco of a cheerful bunny rabbit or some other fluffy little animal that didn't quite know how vulnerable it was. Come on, it's a brilliant idea.

"No," Draco heard himself say.

Don't be a prat, Malfoy.

Draco shook his head. "I won't do it."

"Come on," insisted Harry, catching at Draco's sleeve. "I bet it'll even be fun for you. You love winding me up."

"Potter, these walls could be ten feet thick for all we know. Do you know how hacked off you'd have to get?"

"Well, no one annoys me as much as you do," pointed out Harry, only half-joking.

Draco yanked his arm out of Harry's grasp and whirled to glare at him furiously, his voice coming out on a hiss. "You don't know what you're asking."

The ferocity in Draco's tone made Harry jump back. A look of hurt flitted across his face before he set his chin stubbornly. "Fine. Look, I was just joking. Don't get all wound up."

Harry sat back against the wall next to Draco, who was now staring furiously down at the half-sandwich that lay in his lap. After a moment of silence, he picked it up and, in a burst of childish irritation, threw it at Harry.

Harry looked down in surprise as the sandwich bounced off his arm.

"That was mature, Malfoy."

"So what?" Draco had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring at the far wall. He knew he was being childish, but didn't feel able to do anything about it.

"I've had another idea."

"So have I, and it's that you should go away."

Harry ignored this. "Don't you want to hear my idea?"

"Is this another world-beater like your last one?"

"I want you to teach me how to use that sword."

Now Draco turned and looked at him. "What?"

Harry gestured towards Godric's sword, which was propped against a low rosewood table. "We've got two swords, and nothing else to do.

I might as well learn."

Draco bit his lip. "The swords aren't bated…"

"Bated?"

"They should have beads on the tips…to keep them from being sharp. If you're going to learn on them."

"Did you learn on bated swords?"

"No," Draco admitted.

"Well, then." Harry walked over, picked up Godric's sword, and turned to face Draco. He presented an odd picture in his jeans, bloodstained shirt, and worn sneakers, the glittering, jewel-encrusted sword held tight in his right hand.

Draco sighed. "Fine, but we'll take it slowly. Hermione will not thank me if I ruin your looks by slicing off your nose."

"Hermione would love me even if I had no nose," said Harry, with enviable conviction.

"And how much fun it will be," said Draco, getting to his feet and reaching for his own sword, "finding out if that's true or not. Shall we?"

Ginny looked up as Ron came into the kitchen, carrying a blue-bound book in his hands.

"How's Hermione?" she asked.

"She must be all right. She gave me homework." He waved the book in his hand at them (Tandy's Magical Reference Dictionary, Vol. S).

"I'm supposed to be looking up spells having to do with sleep. And dreaming."

"Anything so far?" asked Charlie, proffering a plate of biscuits.

Ron flopped into a chair. "Nothing about sleep spells, or dreams either, for that matter. Although if you want to make pastries invisible or Summon up a troupe of can-can dancers in luminous lederhosen, I'm your guy."

"Charlie?" It was Mrs. Weasley, standing in the doorway, wearing one of her more patched old robes and looking tired. She smiled when Ginny glanced up at her.

"Lo, Mum," said Charlie. "Tea?"

"No. There was just something I wanted to show you. I was cleaning up Percy's room, you know, to take my mind off things, and I found this in a pocket of his pajamas." She held out a folded white piece of paper. "It's addressed to Draco Malfoy."