Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

Ben nodded. "That usually means that thereś some event, some kind of turning point, that could go either way. The outcome of that moment determines which prophecy is correct for your reality. It might have already happened, and it might not have. You wouldn´t know."

"And maybe the Heir of Gryffindor that brings him to destruction isn´t Harry," said Ginny. "Maybe itś you."

Ben blinked, as if this had not occurred to him. "When my father died," he said slowly, "he cursed his murderer. The death-curse of a wizard with Slytherin blood is a powerful thing and they often come to pass."

"What was the curse?"

Ben shook his head. He had that closed look again. It was almost like seeing Dracoś expression on Harryś face. "I don´t know — I don't think anybody is sure what his words were."

Ginny thought it best to change the subject. Over the years, she had certainly learned that Heirs of Gryffindor tended to be very closed-mouthed when discussing how their parents were killed by wizards from the house of Slytherin. "So you can show me how to modify the Time Turner, or whatever it was you said before?"

"That," he said, looking at the table, "is probably not the best approach." Ginnyś heart sunk again. The plan she´d been forming in her head since Ben first mentioned what needed to be done to the Time Turner crumbled to the ground as she watched him and then he lifted us lift his hand and snapped his fingers once, hard. There was a rustle of wings, and a small apricot-colored horned owl lifted off its perch near the door with a soft whoo, and came to rest on his arm. He took a roll of parchment from the owlś leg, smoothed it out, picked a quill up off the table, and wrote several short lines.

Finished, he rolled his letter back up, tied it to his owlś leg, and sent the bird off with another snap of his fingers. He watched it go, seeming lost in thought.

After a moment, Ginny cleared her throat. "What are you doing?"

she asked.

"Well," said Ben, "you can´t expect me just to go a dozen years into the past with you without leaving anyone a note saying where I´m going, can you?"

Ginny felt a huge smile begin to spread across her face.

* * * * *

"The same Zonkoś pencils? The ones you used to draw the Marauderś Map?" There was an achingly wistful tone to Ronś voice that nearly made Sirius smile. "I can´t believe it."

"Here," he said. "You can see them if you want."

He pushed the small box of pencils through the gap in the wall, and saw Hermioneś small hand come forward to retrieve it. As he drew his own hand back, a flash of light caught the edge of his silver bracelet and the Vivicus charm seemed to dim for a moment.

He seized at his wrist with his other hand, getting to his feet and staring. It hadn´t been a trick of the light — the Vivicus stone had flickered. He was sure of it. He felt his heart pound against his chest as he stared at the glowing light in the heart of the stone. It certainly wasn´t flickering any more, if anything it had grown in intensity and steadiness, the red stone shining like a small sun.

Harry.

Hermioneś voice pulled him partway out of his reverie. "Sirius," she called, her voice muffled by the stone wall between them. "Did you draw the Map?"

"No," Sirius replied absently. "Remus did, and Peter helped. They were better draftsmen than James or I were."

"So you don´t know how they managed to make it…come to life?"

Sirius released his wrist and looked over towards the gap in the wall through which Hermioneś voice had come. An idea had come to niggle at the back of his brain. "Well, they stole the school floor plans, and traced them over with the Zonkoś pencils. They´ve stopped making those pencils, you know. They´re meant to make drawings come to life, but they tend to work a little too well."

"Too well?" Ronś voice now, sounding curious.

"Well, they made things come to life but they worked in odd ways.

So you could draw a bowl of porridge that you could actually eat, if you concentrated hard enough. But it would give you horrid stomach pangs. I could tell you a story about James and a cranberry scone, but I won´t. Or you could draw a broom you could fly on, but they did often tend to lose power in midflight. There were some nasty accidents. Why?" he added, and as the word left his lips there was a groaning, creaking sound and a section of the wall between his cell and the one holding Hermione and Ron suddenly vanished.

Actually it didn´t so much vanish as swing outward with a creak as if it were hinged. Which, Sirius realized a moment later, it was. A squarish section of wall had been transformed into a door, and on the other side of the door stood Ron, and next to him Hermione, a Magical Reality pencil in her hand and an astonished look on her face.

"I really didn´t think it would work…" she murmured, gazing upward.

"You drew a door," said Sirius, shaking his head in amazement, although he´d long ago accepted that Hermione was a sight cleverer than anyone had a right to be.

"Itś a bit crooked," said Ron appraisingly, stepping through it so that he was now in Siriusćell. Hermione looked mildly affronted.

"Not that that matters — it worked," he added quickly.

"It doesn´t really help us, though, does it," said Hermione, a bit mournfully. "I mean, we can´t draw on the bars. They´re too far apart."

Sirius looked at them both thoughtfully. "Which one of you is the better artist?" he said.

They both looked at him consideringly for a moment; then Hermione said, "Ron is."

"Give him the pencils, then," said Sirius.

Hermione obeyed and Ron stood holding the box of pencils and looking at Sirius as if he were just a bit mad. "Do you want me to draw you a cranberry scone?" he said.

"No," said Sirius. "I want you to draw me the cell where Harry and Draco are. From memory. Do you think you can?"

Ron glanced at Sirius and then at Hermione, who was staring at him hopefully. "I can try," he said. "Have you got any parchment?"

Sirius shook his head. "I want you to draw it as close to life-sized as you can. On the wall, over there. And…"

Ron looked at him. "What?"

"Try to hurry."

It took almost the whole box of pencils for Ron to complete the sketch. The lead in the pencils was very soft, and the wall very rough. Ron worked slowly, grinding each pencil down to its nub, scraping his fingertips against the stone until they bled. Sirius and Hermione watched as quietly as they could as a rough image of the cell took shape: the high walls, the clutter of furniture, the tapestries with their embroidered dragons and their motto In Hoc Signo Vinces.

Finally, Ron stepped back, clutching the stub of the last a pencil in his hand. "Thatś all I can do," he said.

"All right. The power is there. I can feel it." Sirius was struck by the sensation emanating from Ron's sketch, almost as if the boy had put a little of his own magic into the drawing. It was so reminiscent of the feeling he'd had when Wormtail first handed him the Marauder's Map, the feeling that great and terrible things could happen just by using it. He glanced at the sketch and smiled as two dots labeled "Harry Potter" and "Draco Malfoy" popped into view, but felt flooded with concern when six more dots with labels like Udrovad and Fenudeel appeared on the wall.

"What are those?" Hermione asked nervously

"I don't know, but they're not moving," Sirius replied. He had expected Harry to be alone in the cell, perhaps with Draco, but certainly not with a contingent of Slytherin's minions. And they didn't have their wands, but if his plan worked, they would have the element of surprise. He turned to Ron and Hermione in turn and asked, "Are you ready to go through? You'll have to concentrate on their cell, your memories of it, the way it feels to stand in there and look at the walls and the ceiling. Don't think of this dungeon at all."