Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"This is Sirius we´re talking about! Throwing him in prison, itś not like just locking up anyone! He spent twelve years in jail, did you ever-"

"I was trying to save his life!" Draco yelled at the top of his lungs, so angry now that even his hair seemed to be crackling with rage. "He would have died if I hadn´t thrown him in prison! And so would you bloody have, if I hadn´t done what I did for you!"

'Yeah, because you would have killed me!" shouted Harry. "Thereś circular logic for you! You saved me from you! Congratulations! Pin a medal on this guy, heś a hero. What did you save Sirius from?"

He was shouting so loudly now, his words were bouncing off the walls of the cell, mingling with the echo of Dracoś voice. "Were you about to run him over and you decided nah, letś throw him in prison instead?"

"He came here in disguise, you stupid twonk," Draco snarled, his eyes flashing copper with rage, like a catś. "He disguised himself as a vampire, but all dark creatures coming into the castle have to be Tested, and the Test is fatal to humans. So I had him put where they wouldn´t be able to get at him, not now, anyway. And heś safe there. And I am done explaining myself to you, Potter! I am sick and tired of you not believing me! If you think I´m so bloody untrustworthy than why don´t you take out that Charm and stomp it the hell into dust! I won´t stop you — in fact, I´ll encourage it, because I´d rather die than spend one more second listening to you whinging, you mealy-mouthed, rat-faced, four-eyed little bastard!"

Draco brought himself up short, gasping for breath as if he had been running. His eyes were nearly black with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

Harry looked at him in surprise. Usually Draco expressed his ire via stony seething. Harry had never seen him so visibly angry before. It was a bit of a shock and, somehow, a blow to his own rage. Harry felt his own anger drain out of him as if someone had pulled the plug on a basin filled with boiling, poisonous water. He raised his head and looked at Draco squarely.

"Could you repeat that?" he said.

Draco just blinked at him, rage blocking out comprehension. Finally, he ground out, nearly in a whisper, "What?"

"That was a pretty impressive speech," said Harry. "I´d kind of like to hear it again."

Dracoś hands very slowly unclenched at his sides. His voice was unsteady. "Which…part?"

'I think I was particularly partial to the bit where I have a rat face," said Harry, quite sincerely.

Draco shook his head, slowly. "You´re barking mad, Potter."

I´m also sorry.

What? Dracoś eyes widened. The faint blue light struck copper sparks from his eyes. What for?

For a lot of things, but mostly because I never told you I was sorry your father died.

Shock moved across Dracoś face, followed by suspicion. I figured that was because you weren´t sorry. You know, no big loss to the gene pool and all that. He wasn´t the nicest guy. And he was planning on killing you. You could be forgiven for not feeling…

I´m the last person to want anyone to lose their parents, Harry replied.

For a moment, that statement simply hung there, so heavily that Harry could almost imagine his words painted on the air between them. Draco looked as if he were grasping after words, which Harry wouldn´t have previously imagined was possible. Finally, he straightened his shoulders and looked at Harry squarely.

About your parents, Potter…about what I said…

Forget about it.

Forget about it?

Now it was Harryś turn to take a deep breath. I guess you can´t, can you? Because I know I never will. I won´t forgive you for that.

Draco looked, very briefly, blank with shock. Whatever he had been expecting Harry to say, it hadn´t been that. The shock went away, and was replaced by something worse. The unhappiness in his expression was startling. Harry felt it cut through him as if it was his own. Well. Even Dracoś inner voice sounded terse and wretched. I guess thatś your right.

He glanced away. Harry watched him, and felt suddenly — contrite.

More than contrite. As if he had hurt Ron badly, or Hermione, or someone else close enough to him that their pain had become, in some sense, his own responsibility.

Malfoy. Wait.

Dracoś eyes widened fractionally and he paused. What?

I shouldn´t have said that. I can forgive you. I can make myself.

Draco just looked at him.

Hermione. I was talking to her about this today.

And what? She hates me now, too?

No. She doesn´t. She doesn't see you the way you see yourself, Malfoy, or even the way I see you. She doesn't see me that way, either. She sees what we could be, what we could do, and that's what's real to her. In her eyes, we're better than we are, braver than we are, more honest than we are. She believes in you. And I´m not going to deny that she might be right. She usually is. So I will — I mean, I do. Forgive you.

A very small smile had come to hover around the corners of Dracoś mouth. Somewhere in his expression, Harry found a memory of a little boy in Madam Malkinś dress shop, pale and small and somewhat lost in his black robes, who looked at him with superior eyes and drawled like no eleven-year-old Harry had ever met before.

The first Hogwarts student Harry had ever seen. And that had been the first and almost the last time Draco had ever smiled at him.

That, and even Dracoś inner voice, Harry thought, had a little bit of a drawl to it, was a hell of a speech, Potter.

Yeah. A wry smile touched the edge of Harryś mouth. I´ve been practicing. He looked down briefly, saw the Epicyclical Charm glittering around his throat, and on impulse, stuck out his hand, feeling slightly silly as he did so. So we´re all right, then.

I dunno. Draco looked at his hand with his eyebrows raised. You still think I stabbed you in the back?

Maybe, replied Harry. But I´ve decided that, given everything we´ve been through, you get that one for free. Next time, though. Next time I´ll take your head off.

Draco stood there for another long moment, looking at Harryś outstretched hand, his gray eyes unreadable. Harry was reminded again of Draco at eleven, holding out his hand in the train compartment for Harry to take. And Harry hadn´t taken it. Now he held out his own hand, and waited for Draco to take it, thinking it would be only poetic justice if he refused it.

Finally a smile broke out over Dracoś face, one of his rare, infrequent real smiles that were like music or sunrise and reminded Harry why it probably was that Hermione liked him so much.

Draco reached out, and took Harryś hand: his left hand, and Harryś right. The scars on their palms brushed each other, and Harry felt a bolt of cold go through his hand.

I really am sorry about your father. Itś not fair.

Dracoś eyes unfocused slightly, almost as if he was looking at something beyond Harry. Thatś true, he said, but think how much worse it would be if life was fair, and all the awful things that happened to us happened because we actually deserve them. I for one take great comfort in the completely impersonal hostility of the universe.

Wow. Thatś a really depressing worldview, Malfoy.

Thanks. So you trust me?

I trust you.

"Do you think we´re going to die?" said Ron, sounding curious.

Hermione lifted her face out of her hands and looked at him dully.

Like her, he was sitting on the floor, his back to the wall. This was probably because the cell they were locked in had no chairs, not even a bench to sit on. It was a windowless stone room without even straw thrown on the floor. The walls were dank and freezing to the touch. She had begun to wish she had her jeans back again, since the hem and sleeves of her blue robe had been draggled in the dust and dampness, and a guard had torn a ragged hole in her sleeve when he had thrown her in the cell. Ron had come off a bit worse: one of the guards had hit him when he resisted having the Invisibility Cloak taken away from him, and he had a dramatic and rapidly purpling bruise on one cheek.