Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"Don't tell me you're feeling betrayed, Potter," Draco grinned.

"That's adorable."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, could we skip the obligatory taunting and just cut swiftly to the point of this little visit?"

"Maybe taunting is the point of this visit," said Draco equably. "It's certainly the fun part. Although possibly not from where you're sitting. Tell me a little more about how betrayed you feel, why don't you? The radiant bonds of our friendship shattered, and all that.

Tell me how much you'll miss me."

"I can't," Harry said. "I don´t get to the part of Arithmancy where we cover numbers so small they don't exist until next year."

"That is," Draco said, "assuming that for you, there is a next year. Or even a next week. Letś face it, Potter, even the concept of tonight isn't looking like one you're going to be having any close acquaintance with."

Harry's chains rattled as he leaned back against the wall with an exasperated sigh. "Look, what do you want, Malfoy?"

"What do I want? World peace, Potter. A suede coat that won't get ruined in the rain. A broomstick that'll do Mach Two. Oh, and some of your blood."

"My blood?"

Draco turned and looked over the shoulder at one of the faceless gray-robed guards. "Unchain his wrist," he said, and as the guard reached forward towards Harry, Draco grinned again. "His left wrist."

Hermione felt her heart sink down into her stomach. That smile…she hadn´t seen that kind of smile on Dracoś face in months. It was a nasty sort of childish, amused smile, the same smile he had smiled third year when he´d stopped in the hall to tell her that her teeth were so big, the Druids could have used them for places of worship, and all the Slytherins had laughed.

She wondered if they would laugh now. Probably.

She couldn´t imagine how Harry retained such an indifferent expression as the guard reached forward and none too gently, did something to his left wrist that freed it from the cuff. If it were her, she would have screamed at Draco, kicked at him with her feet. She wanted to do that now, just as she wanted to rush over and put her hands on his shoulders and force him to promise her that he was only pretending.

As the guards unfastened Harry, Draco reached forward and slid his hand into Harryś shirt pocket. When he removed it, he was holding Harryś pocketknife. He glanced over at the guard, and the guard handed over Harryś now-freed wrist as impersonally as if it were a pencil. Harry didn´t struggle or try to get away, just watched Draco through narrowed green eyes as Draco flicked the blade of the knife open and tested its edge with a finger.

Beside her, Hermione felt Ron tense, and she gripped his arm hard.

Draco turned Harryś hand over in his grip so that it rested palm-up, and placed the edge of the blade against the inside of Harryś wrist. "Do you remember," he said, still conversationally, "when you sliced open my hand with this?"

"I did it to save your life," said Harry. He didn´t move, but Hermione, so close to him she could see the blood pounding in the pulse at his throat, felt a slow and sickening fear sweep over her.

How could Harry be so still, so self-possessed? She knew he wasn´t calm — she could see the sweat darkening the back of his shirt, plastering his dark hair to his neck. But he didn´t change expression. He learned that from Draco, she thought.

Draco glanced down, and she saw his eyes flash. "Which you would have done for anyone."

"I wouldn´t share my blood with just anyone."

"Oh, really?" Dracoś voice dripped sarcasm and something else. "I bet you wish you´d let me die when you had the chance."

"No," said Harry, quietly but with conviction. "No. I´d do the same thing again."

Dracoś hand where it held the knife jerked almost imperceptibly.

Hermione, trying desperately not to move, saw his hands, and her heart skipped a beat. Dracoś hands had always been immaculate, well-groomed, the nails perfect half-moons. Now they were bitten down to the bloody quick and there were deep indents on his palm where, perhaps, his nails had been driven in. What has he done?

What has been done to him?

Draco recovered himself. "Nice try, Potter, but itś a little too late to suck up to me. Anyway, I thought you had more spine than that."

"Drop dead, Malfoy."

"Already have done, mate."

"If at first you don't succeed," said Harry shortly, "try again."

Draco pursed his lips and whistled. "Nice comeback. Taking lessons from those more clever than you, Potter? Sirius giving you pointers?"

Harry laughed. It was such an unexpected sound that Hermione nearly jumped. Dracoś eyes flew wide. "Whatś so funny, Potter?"

"I was just wondering," said Harry, "what Sirius would say if he knew what you were doing with his knife right now."

This time, Draco did jump, and the edge of the knife bit down into Harryś arm. Draco yanked the knife back as blood sprang up around the edges of the cut, and spilled over, splattering the floor.

One of the gray-robed servants darted forward and pressed a square of cloth over the bleeding cut. Within a moment, it was soaked in scarlet. The cloth was retracted, and the servant retreated, backing towards Slytherin, who held out a hand for it.

Hermione averted her gaze, nauseated. What is he going to do with Harryś blood?

Harry apparently had no such concerns. He was ignoring his bleeding arm, looking at Draco instead, and the look on his face was awful. Hermione thought that if Harry ever looked at her like that, she would want to die.

Draco meanwhile was very white and looked a bit as if he were going to be sick. He flicked the knife shut, and dropped it back into Harryś pocket. There was blood on his hands now and blood on the white lining of his cloak.

"Malfoy," said Harry, so quietly Hermione had to strain to hear him.

"You don´t have to do this."

"I´ll die if I don´t." Dracoś voice was a monotone, and Hermione was struck by his choice of words — not he´ll kill me if I don´t, but I´ll die. As if it was quite out of his control.

"There are worse things than dying. I guess you should know that."

A little of the old wicked sparkle shot across Dracoś expression.

"You and your friends brought me back," he pointed out coolly. "I guess you underestimated me, Potter."

"No. I overestimated you. And now we´ll all pay for it."

"Everything has to be paid for," said Draco, in an absent voice, as if he were reciting something he had learned off by rote.

"And what am I paying for?"

"What you´ve done to me," said Draco flatly.

Harry looked incredulous. "What I´ve done to you? I haven´t done anything to you other than save your bloody life, and stick up for you, and trust you! I let you hang around my girlfriend even though I know how you feel about her — "

"My life never would have needed saving if it hadn´t been for you!"

Draco shouted. Scarlet spots of rage dotted his cheekbones. "If it hadn´t been for you, I would have been a loyal servant of Voldemortś and my fatherś. I never would have fought them, never would have known what it was to want to fight them, to want to be any different," and he spat out different as if it were a terrible word. "My father would be alive, if it wasn´t for you."

Harry blanched, shock and indignation darkening his expression.

Hermione knew exactly how he was feeling. She knew how Draco felt about Harry. How could he say these things?

And yet he was saying them. The anger in his eyes was real; they seemed to be spitting silver sparks. "I guess you know what itś like to have a destiny, don´t you, Potter?" he snarled. "But do you know what itś like to turn it away? To fight it and fight it every second of every day until thereś nothing left of you but ragged shreds and all you want is to die and get some peace? And then you show up, playing the hero, telling me you´ve never wished you could die.