Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

He raised his eyebrows. "How do you know so much about Slytherinś weaponry and the forces he commands?"

"From my friends. Itś complicated…but…" Ginny broke off. "Ben, where are the Heirs?" she asked abruptly.

Ben looked taken aback. "Who?"

"The other Heirs. Besides you."

"Well." Ben ticked them off on his fingers. "Rowenaś daughter is eleven; she just started at Hogwarts. The rest of Helgaś brood are all over in Ireland right now. And I´m here, keeping an eye on things. Just a few months out of the year, but somebody has to…"

"And the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Gareth?" Benś eyes flicked away from hers. "Heś not around much."

"Do you know him? Are you enemies?" Ginny demanded, suddenly fascinated, seeing as she did the possibility for a weird echo of Harry and Dracoś complicated and often bewildering relationship.

"Why? Is this something to do with the Heir of Slytherin in your own time?" Ben neatly turned the tables on her, leaning his chin on his hand. "Whatś he like?"

"Draco? Heś…complicated," said Ginny. "He isn´t an simple person to know. Heś not very easy to be friends with, although heś loyal, and he never lies, even though he does conceal things. Oh dear. Itś hard to explain. And he treats girls appallingly," she added as an afterthought, pulling a face.

Ben raised his dark eyebrows. "Has he treated you appallingly?"

"Not yet," said Ginny. "But I´m working on it."

Ben coughed, which sounded a lot like a laugh that he was covering up. At that moment, the tent flap opened and a house-elf came in with fruit and bread and cheeses on a tray. Suddenly feeling famished, Ginny tore into the food. When she looked up again, Ben was still gazing at her, a faint line of worry between his eyebrows. "I don´t understand this business about wanting an army," he said. "I mean, yes, the soldiers who fought in the War are still around, and we could form an army now if needed, but what good does that do you? We´re here, in our own time."

"I thought I could bring them through," said Ginny, fixing her eyes on Ben. "This Key of Helgaś, this Time-Turner, is very powerful. If I could borrow your army, I´m pretty sure I could bring them all through to my own time. I can´t explain how I know I could do it, but I could."

But Ben was shaking his head, and Ginny saw, with a sinking feeling, that he looked not intrigued by her suggestion, but appalled.

"Ginny, no-"

" I know I arrived here about eight years after I meant to, but I think I know what I did wrong, I can fix it, make it work this time-"

"Itś not that!" Ben sprang up, and put his hands on the table, leaning forward. "Itś the nature of time I´m concerned about," he said, not looking at her. "Ginny, if you bring people into the future, you´re taking them out of their own time. What if they die there?

And what if, because they die there, people who were supposed to be born were never born? Helga used to talk about time paradoxes.

Thatś just what you´d be creating. The result might be an alternate future, one where you, or your friends, were never born at all."

Ben shook his head, his dark eyes full of regret and sorrow. "I´m so sorry," he said. "I can´t help you."

They sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the adamantine cell, as Harry had sat earlier with Hermione and Ron. And to Harryś surprise, it was equally comforting, in an odd sort of way, to have Draco there. He never would have thought that proximity to Draco Malfoy would be a source of consolation. How things did change.

"Knut for your thoughts, Potter," said Draco, who had his knees pulled up to his chin, his arms wrapped around them.

"I was wondering if you still had those sudden urges to kill me," said Harry. "Not, you know, that I´d judge you if you did." He grinned.

"But I might send you out to get me an asbestos-coated flak jacket, just to be safe."

A line of confusion appeared between Dracoś eyes. "A what?"

"Nothing. Bad joke. But I was serious about the killing me thing."

Draco shook his head. "No."

"No? It just went away?"

"Uh-huh." Draco shrugged, seeming disinclined to elaborate. "Since we fought the manticore. I don´t know why. Itś just another in a long list of things that doesn´t make any sense."

There was a introspective pause during which both boys seemed lost in thought. Finally, Harry sighed. "You know, I´m getting a little tired of all this 'go here, stand there, wait for the evil that will inevitably come and kill you.Ńot that I´ve died yet, but itś just a matter of time. I want to do something."

"Come on, Potter. Whereś your sense of mystery and adventure? I mean, I already died. It wasn´t so bad."

Harry idly watched Draco as he flipped over the sword in his hand, the light reflecting off its grooved surface. "Are you trying to cheer me up?"

"Not at all. Wouldn´t dream of it."

"Good. Because it really depresses me when you do that."

"In that case, let me point out that Slytherin probably has something really horrible planned for you. I mean, he said he´d use any means necessary to wipe out the Gryffindor line. I think that indicates that he intends to go beyond the use of harsh language."

Harry suddenly sat bolt upright. "Sod all this sitting around and waiting. Letś do something. Letś practice."

"Practice what? Human sacrifice?"

Harry got to his feet, and went over to where Godricś blade lay propped against a table. He lifted it in his hand, startled as always at how well the time-mellowed metal of the hilt seemed to conform to the shape of his hand. "This," he said.

Draco got to his feet, his eyes quizzical. "You want to fight?"

"I want to practice. I´ve been chained up for two days. I want the exercise."

Draco got slowly to his feet. "All right."

Draco picked up his sword, and walked to the center of the room. He turned and faced Harry, and saluted. Harry returned the gesture back so exactly it was almost a mockery, and raised his sword. Then whipped it through the air, offering Draco a very professional feint, followed by a jab past his guard that would have sliced Draco's arm if he hadn´t spun away. He heard the fabric of his shirt part under the blade with a whisper, although the sword didn´t cut his skin. He glanced up at Harry in surprise.

And Harry grinned. I´ve gotten better. Haven´t I?

He had gotten better. This, of course, should have been impossible.

Draco could only assume that this was a result of their strengthened mental connection. He had nearly forgotten the pleasure of fencing with someone who was a match for him. The swords struck against each other with the light, regular rapidity of piano keys striking home — and in Draco's ears they made their own, very pleasant music. It was interesting, he thought, that although Harry had absorbed his knowledge of swordplay from Draco directly, he had nevertheless developed his own style. He fought like he played Quidditch, instinctively and without any fear. Which was a good quality when it came to Quidditch; less so with swordplay, where an understanding of the mortal potential of oneś actions was integral.

He also fought directly, with much forward motion. Draco himself fought with cautious treachery, having been taught the tricks of betrayal by his father, although he did not use them here. Not on Harry.

He brought his sword in from the side, and then, just as Harry moved to block and reply, he glanced over Harryś shoulder and saw that Salazar Slytherin was standing by the entrance to the cell, watching them.

He stopped dead. He was vaguely aware of a flash of silver at the corner of his eyes, and then Harryś voice exploded into his brain.

Jesus, Malfoy, I almost killed you! Why the hell didn´t you block me-