Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

fortunately her feet were bare — and clattered into the dark living room. It was like being dragged forward by a very energetic and enthusiastic puppy. The Lycanthe did not seem to care whether there was a path for Hermione, as long as the space it had to go through was clear, but she managed to keep to her feet, only banging once and very painfully into the side of the sofa with her arm. She swore, but kept on going as the Lycanthe dragged her into the kitchen, dark except for the steady glow that came from the crackling fire. Hermione followed the tugging over to the fireplace, where she knelt down, heedless of the fact that she was getting soot all over her knees, and glanced up the chimney.

There was the silver box, stuck halfway up the flue between two bricks. Shoving the Lycanthe, now quivering like a struck tuning fork, into her pocket, she reached up and took hold of the box, lifting it down into her lap.

"Hermione, what do you think you´re doing?"

She jumped so violently that she cracked her head on the architrave of the fireplace. It took a second for the pain to wear off; when it did, and she took her hand away from her head, she saw Ron standing in the doorway of the kitchen. And he looked angry. His blue eyes were blazing and his red hair was sticking up around his head in bright red flames.

Uh-oh, she thought, getting to her feet. She bit her lip, hard, and her voice wobbled as she asked: "Did I wake you up?" Only then realizing that this was a stupid question, since Ron was not in his pajamas but wearing the jeans and blue crewneck sweater he had been wearing earlier that day. His hands were shoved into his pockets, but she could see even from where she was standing that they were balled into fists, which meant that he was more than just angry — he was furious.

"Hermione," he snapped. "What are you playing at?" He stalked across the room and snatched the box out of her hand. "Well?"

"I was just — "

"Sneaking around behind our backs? Going to see if you could figure out how to use the Turner on your own, never mind how dangerous it might be?"

"Ron, I-"

"I could tell just from your expression this afternoon that there was something on your mind, thatś why I asked you. But far be it from you to tell me the truth. You didn´t want Charlie to hide it because it might be dangerous, you wanted him to hide it so you could use it yourself!"

"Stop yelling at me!"

"Then tell me why you´re bloody acting like this!"

Hermione had told herself she wasn´t going to cry, but it was no use. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, but they filled up and overflowed. Angry tears scorched her cheeks. "No," she said. "Itś got nothing to do with you, Ron."

Ron went even paler with anger than he had been before. Furiously, he yanked the box open, and grabbed the Time-Turner out of it. He threw the box aside with a clatter and held the Turner up on its slim gold chain, winking and sparkling in the firelight. "Tell me what you want with this," he said, "or I swear, I´ll throw it in the fire."

"No!"

"Yes. I´ll do it."

She couldn´t doubt his conviction. She raised her head, tasting her own tears in her mouth. "There are two ways you can use a Time-Turner," she said mechanically. "You can turn it over and over until you go as far back as you want to. Or you can set it to a specific time. That one is set."

"Set?" Ron glanced at the Turner, then back at her. "Set to what?"

She shrugged. "I don´t know. But I am going to go and find out."

Ron shook his head. "No. Not you. Us. You think I´m going to let you go by yourself?"

Hermione raised her chin, tasting her own tears in her mouth.

"Ron," she said. "I don´t want you to come with me."

He set his jaw in a stubborn line. "Why not?"

She took a shuddering breath. "Professor McGonagall told me — third year — " she said hastily. "Never to go back in time by more than a few days. That the further you go back, the harder is for you ever to ever return." She pointed at the Turner with a shaking hand. "That Turner belonged to the Founders. I saw them making it in my dream. I think itś set to a thousand years ago. That — thatś what I believe."

"What?" Ron slowly lowered his hand. "And you were going to use it anyway?"

"I will do whatever it takes to help Harry. The Founders knew Slytherin was going to come back. And they knew that when he did, their Heirs would have to try to figure out how to defeat him. They couldn´t exactly leave an instruction book around for us because whatever they did, it was powerful, dark magic and they couldn´t risk those spells falling into the wrong hands. So they left this — " and she pointed at the Turner — "locked in a place where only an Heir could find it. And it´ll take me to them and then they can tell me what we need to do."

"You don´t know that," said Ron, staring at her.

"No, I don´t," Hermione admitted. "But itś a chance, so I have to take it."

"And how are you planning on getting back? Did that figure into your scheme?"

"I´ll find a way back," she said stubbornly, gesturing with her hand.

"I´ll-"

Ron grabbed her wrist tightly. "You´ll find a way? That sounds like a well-thought out plan. Don´t you even care what happens to you?

Do you want to be stuck somewhere forever with no way to come back?"

"If it will get me back to Harry I will walk back!" she shouted. "You wouldn´t understand! You don´t know how it feels-" she broke off at the look on his face, hurt and anger mixed together.

"You think you´re the only one?" he shouted right back. "You think you´re the only one who suffers or feels guilty about Harry being gone? You think you own all that pain, and that gives you the right to try to fix this all by yourself? Everything we´ve ever faced, we´ve faced together! Are you going to change that now just because you and Harry are dating? I thought we could do better than that."

He hurled himself around as if he were going to storm out of the room, and, suddenly afraid, she caught at his sleeve. "Itś not that," she protested quickly. "Itś this." She touched the Lycanthe around her neck, saw his eyes follow the gesture. "This gives me powers, Ron, Magid-level powers. If it didn´t-"

"Oh, so now this is because I´m not a Magid," he snapped. "If I was Malfoy, you wouldn´t leave me behind."

"Ron, you´re nothing like Draco."

"And I bet you wish I was," said, with corrosive bitterness, and a flash of the old hatred in his eyes. "You think you know me so well.

Don´t you?"

"Itś not a question of leaving you behind," she began, and then her voice broke, and she trailed off, looking up at him. She wondered what Draco would do in Ronś place; probably he would either say something that would make her laugh or he would somehow trick her into bringing him with her. But Ron wouldn´t do that. He didn´t trick people, and unlike Draco everything he was feeling always showed on his face. Even Harry could hide what he was thinking better than Ron could. But then again, both Harry and Draco had grown up hiding what they felt from adults who were at a minimum dangerous and unloving; Ron, on the other hand, had been brought up being nothing but loved and couldn´t have hid a feeling if he´d been paid to. She looked into his eyes now and saw the wreck of her plans, realizing in that moment just how selfish she had been.

"Of course I know you so well," she said. "You´re my best friend."

There was a short silence. Ron stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor. Finally, he looked up at her. "Am I?"

"You know you are," she said. "And I´m yours — I thought — aren´t I?"

"You are," he said. "But so is Harry. You think I don´t feel guilty? I keep thinking I could have — should have — done something. I should have realized that Charlie wasn´t Charlie earlier. Don´t I know my own brother? But, apparently, I don´t. I was too wound up thinking about how much I hated Malfoy to pay any attention."