Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"You want to borrow my book?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Sirius said, then shut his mouth hurriedly. Something about Snape reduced him to the approximate age of thirteen, try as he might to fight it. He just couldn´t be in the same room with the man without having fantasies about hanging him upside-down by his ankles over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall with the words "Kiss Me: I´m Irish" magically emblazoned on his shorts.

Not that Sirius had ever done such a thing.

Certainly not.

"I mean, yes, I´d like to borrow it…"

Snape slammed the beaker he was holding down onto the table with force. "You having a problem with demons?"

"You might say that."

"Typical," said Snape shortly, without raising his head. "Take the book if you want it."

"Thanks," said Sirius. He realized that this was the first time in his life he had ever thanked Snape for anything. It seemed momentous, but Snape apparently hadn´t even noticed. He was leaning back, his gaze fixed on the smoking cauldron before him, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Itś done," he announced.

Tucking the book under his arm, Sirius strode over to the cauldron.

The liquid in it had stopped bubbling, and had settled down into a thick, smooth silvery-gray material, somewhat reflective, like mercury, or moonlight. It was almost pretty. Sirius reached out a hand —

"Don´t touch it," said Snape harshly.

Sirius took his hand back, nettled. "Well, pardon me for living."

Snape looked up at him from under beetling dark brows, his black eyes flat. "No one gets pardoned for living," he said. "Not even you."

To that, Sirius found he had nothing to say. He watched Snape as the Potions master filled a glass, copper-bound flask with a measure of the pale-gray liquid from the cauldron. He held it out to Sirius, who reached to take it. As he did, the firelight struck a spark off the red stone in his bracelet.

"Vivicus charm?" asked Snape, eyebrows high.

"Harry," said Sirius shortly, taking the flask and stashing it in the inside pocket of his robe.

"Itś good that you have that," said Snape shortly.

Good for me? Sirius wondered. Or good for Harry?

He looked at Snape. Snape looked back at him. Sirius realized that they were done. He felt slightly lost. Now what?

"Look," he began, haltingly, "do you want to come with me?"

Snape blinked at him. "What?"

"I thought," said Sirius, wondering if he might be going mad, "that you might like to see the effects of your potion. To know — that it worked. Thatś all."

"I made it. It will work," said the Potions teacher coolly.

"Oh." Sirius blinked. "Well, in that case, I should tha-"

"Don´t thank me," interrupted Snape. "The image of you trying to force that potion down the throat of a half-crazed werewolf is really all the thanks I need."

Sirius looked down at the potion, and then back at Snape, who wasn´t exactly smiling, but had a smug sort of look around his eyes.

"This potion," he said, "it isn´t going to make Lupin sprout bat ears or boils or any other side effects like-"

"Oh, bugger off, Black," interrupted Snape in exasperation, and Sirius, realizing that he was fighting a losing battle, Disapparated, flask and book in hand.

Ron, Ginny and Hermione were sitting in the living room of the Burrow. They were waiting for Charlie to come back from the kitchen, where he was having one of the Aurors who had been guarding the house hex-test the Turner for malicious spells.

Ginny was waiting impatiently for Charlie, Hermione was reading a copy of From Basilisks to Werewolves: Anglinś Magical Bestiary, and Ron was busy examining Fred and Georgeś magazine collection, which had turned up under a paving stone in the cellar.

Hermione shook her head at him. "I cannot believe you are reading those."

Ron grinned. "These are quality publications."

"Ron, nothing you have to read sideways is a quality publication."

"You know, these magazine are really old," he observed, conversationally. "In fact, I swear thatś Professor McGonagall," he added, holding the magazine up towards Hermione, who glanced at the indicated page without a great deal of interest.

"It does kind of look like her," Hermione agreed. "Who knew she owned a kimono, or was so strangely fond of marmalade?"

"Or was ever blonde?" put in Ginny, leaning over.

Ron hastily yanked the magazine away. "Ginny! You´re not allowed to look at that!"

"Why not?"

"Because you´re a girl — and you´re too young."

"Hermioneś a girl."

"Yeah, but Hermioneś been hanging around with me and Harry for years. Sheś thoroughly corrupted already."

"Ron, I´ve got six older brothers. I´m thoroughly corrupted as well."

Hermione giggled. "Ginny, don´t say that, you´ll give Ron an aneurysm."

Ron grinned at her. Instead of making her want to grin back, though, she felt a wave of sadness. Ron smiling, his dark blue eyes narrowed with amusement — it hurt a little, looking at him, because while she loved having Ron around, even just the sound of his voice threw into painful relief the fact that Harry wasn´t there. So much of her life now it had always been both of them, Ron and Harry, Harry and Ron, flanking her, her constant companions. When she wanted to find Harry in the Great Hall, she would automatically look for Ron, his height and flame-colored hair making him stand out, and there would be Harry next to him. Looking at Ron brought vivid pictures of Harry to her mind: Harry and Ron tearing into their presents Christmas morning, bits of wrapping paper flying around them; Harry and Ron both trying to sneak looks at her notes in the library. She remembered telling them both that someone had written OWL RON WEASLEY FOR A GOOD TIME on the girls´ bathroom wall in foot-high letters, and Harry laughing so hard that Ron had to hold him up. It was as impossible to separate them in any permanent way in her mind as it would be to separate Harry from his scar, or Draco from his acid sense of humor.

Ron waved a hand in front of her face and she came back to reality with a start. She tried to smile at him, but could feel her mouth being uncooperative. Ron looked curious. "Whatś up, Herm?

Thinking about your dreams again?"

"So what if I am? Dreams have meaning," said Hermione firmly.

"Tell me about it," agreed Ginny from the other side of the table.

"The other night I dreamt that Draco and I…" she caught Ronś look and shrank back.

Ron used his warning voice. "Ginny. I do not want to know."

"Here it is," announced Hermione, interrupting. They both look at her blankly, and she smiled, turning the book around so Ginny could see the picture she was looking at. "The engraving on the lid of the box — itś a manticore." She read out loud: "the fearsome manticore has the body of a lion, the face of a man, and the stinging tail of a scorpion. Its huge jaws, as well, are unique: They hold two rows of razor-sharp teeth, upper and lower, that interlock like the teeth of a comb when the beast closes its mouth. The teeth can slash nearly to ribbons, and the manticore is said to relish feasting on humans. The most dangerous aspect however is its tail. There is no cure for the poison of the manticore, and no help for the victim who is but scratched by its deadly sting." Hermione shut the book and looked over at Ron, who was looking impressed. "See, there are worse things than spiders out there."

Ginny looked surprised. "Why would that be on the lid of my box?"

she demanded. "Do you think that means thereś something bad in there?"

"Apparently not," said Charlie, coming back into the kitchen holding the Time-Turner. "Clean bill of health, I´m told," he added, although he continued looking at it with suspicion.