Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"What about you? You haven't been in there, so what can you concentrate on?" Ron asked.

"Take my hands," Sirius insisted, pocketing the last of the pencils.

"My focus will be on Draco and Harry, and I think a combination of that and your efforts will pull us through." The three of them moved silently in front of the drawing, and they concentrated on the cell, and on Draco and Harry, and recalled them. Sirius could almost feel the pulse of his charm at his wrist as he concentrated on the drawing and the boys. The magic from the pencils was still there, for as he gazed at the lines of the drawing on the wall, they seemed to leap out into three dimensions, gathering reality to them. Sirius heard footsteps which he knew were not his, and saw a faint blue glow bleed out from the drawing on the wall.

As one, they stepped forward, closing their eyes.

* * * * *

"It just never stops, does it?" said Draco resignedly, staring at the demons. "What are you all doing here?"

"We were invited," said the head demon speculatively.

"I didn´t invite you," said Draco positively. He turned to Harry, who was still looking dazed and a little drunk. Draco sighed inwardly.

Relieved as he was that Harry wasn´t dead, he could have done without High on Life Harry at the moment. "Did you invite them?"

Harry shook his head. Draco turned back to the demons. "I don´t suppose it would make any difference if I told you the toga party was down the hall?"

"Funny little mortal boy," said the head demon, and Draco decided that he really didn´t like the emphasis that was put on the word mortal. "You did not summon us, or demand our presence. The sword did."

Draco looked at the sword. So did Harry. It lay as it had, dully gleaming on the bloodstained floor of the cell.

"Come again?" said Draco faintly.

Maybe we should just jump them, said Harryś voice in his head.

Draco swiveled his head around and looked at Harry with mounting dread. He was quite sure now that something very peculiar was going on with the black-haired boy. He just wasn´t sure what. We should do what?

Attack them. We´ve got the sword. It can kill anything.They won´t be expecting it.

We cannot just attack them. Even Dracoś mental voice dripped icicles. They are demons from Hell.

Harry looked unimpressed. So?

So?! So, they´re demons from Hell!

You say that like it means something.

Okay, Potter. Don´t take this the wrong way, but the best thing you could do for the both of us right now is sit down on the floor and put your head in a bag. Take deep breaths and think of a nice quiet place where nothing ever happens. Weasleyś bedroom for instance.

I bet they think they´re so great just because they´re demons, Harry said, looking resentfully across the room. Well, they´re not so great.

Don´t mock the demons, Potter.

Why not? Do you think they can hear us?

No. Itś just…not very classy.

"Are you quite finished trying to convince your friend not to attempt hacking us to pieces?" demanded the lead demon, his bonfire voice cutting into Dracoś thoughts. "I can assure you that it would be a waste of time. We are spirit, not flesh."

"Bugger," said Draco, with feeling. "You can hear us."

"Your telepathy? No, we cannot. It was a logical extrapolation, given the effect of the healing magic on a human, especially a rather little one like your friend there."

"Harry is not little," said Draco indignantly, partly in defense of Harry and partly because, after all, he and Harry were the same size.

If they hadn´t been, they couldn´t have been such effective opposing Seekers. A moment later, thoughts of Quidditch vanished as the import of the demonś words hit him. "Healing magic? What healing magic?"

He glanced over at Harry, and had to admit that he did look as though some sort of magic had thrown its glamour over him — as if a light had been turned on inside him and was shining out through the slim glove of glowing flesh that covered his bones, through his bright emerald eyes, through the brilliant patches of red darkening his tanned cheeks.

"The flesh of a manticores heals wounds," said the head demon. "Its blood, when drunk, can revive those near death. When a human is drenched in it, as your friend here was, it imparts the special property of being able to survive one mortal blow. One mortal blow," said the demon, again. "It does not grant immortality. Only a very few kinds of magic do that."

"So I´m not immortal," said Harry slowly, as if the words were just beginning to sink in.

"Far from it," said the demon. "You are an ordinary mortal child.

Well, there are a few things about you that stand out. That scar which connects you to the Dark Realms is very interesting and if we had more time I´d love to have a look at it, but we don´t. Maybe we will have time later. No, little Harry Potter, you are mortal, and if stabbed again, you will bleed, and you will die, as the Snake Lord knows this. This euphoria you are feeling will soon lift. It is a side effect of the manticoreś healing power, working in you."

"But the manticore is an evil creature," said Draco, still feeling dazed. "How can its blood heal?"

"The manticore is only an animal," said the demon, and there was a sharpness in its voice. "It is only a living being. Evil and good are the words you humans use to put a name to a purpose. But an animal is just an animal, a tool just a tool, a sword just a sword. It is the use you make of it that determines its nature. It could be said that that manticore saved the life of your friend with its own dying blood, and how did you pay it for that? With steel and poison."

"It would have killed us," said Draco faintly, although in his ears he heard the voice of the manticore as it died, Why do you slay me, Master? It was you who made me what I am.

"Probably," agreed the demon. "That was the purpose it was set to.

To protect the Orb in its body. Because with the Orb removed, the Snake Lord once again has access to his powers. If you had died, instead of the manticore, the Orb would not now be in his possession. In a way, it could be said that you delivered it to him."

Draco felt that this was twisting things quite a bit. Then again, nobody ever said demons played fair. "I don´t understand why the sword called you here," he said irritably.

"Slytherin blood," said the demon, and looked pointedly at the sword, still scarlet to the hilt. "We were to be paid in the blood of a Magid of Slytherin descent, if not Slytherin himself. The sword alerted us it had taken the life of such a one. But it was wrong," the demon added, turning a gas-blue glare onto the very much alive Harry. "You´re alive."

"I certainly am," said Harry cheerfully. "You know, you look a lot like the demon that attacked me in my Draco's bedroom not long ago. Is he one of you? Small, rather striking fellow with no ears?"

"You mean Strygalldwir," said the demon, looking unamused. "He is not among us. He was sent to warn you of Slytherinś design on you but, alas, was unsuccessful."

Draco went cold all over. "So, what, you´re here to finish the job?"

he demanded.

"Not exactly," said the demon. "We could take the life of the Gryffindor heir, certainly. But the exchange loses much of its power if the life is not offered freely. In that context, I´d like to offer you a bargain."

"A bargain? Thatś funny," Draco said, half under his breath.

Harry spoke in his head, sounding chipper. Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?

Shut up, Potter, or I swear I´ll beat you like a bongo drum.

Harry sounded sulky. Lighten up, Malfoy.

Draco decided against lecturing Harry on the inappropriateness of lightening up when faced with demons demanding a blood sacrifice.

It was quite novel being forced to be the serious one while Harry giggled his way through peril. Novel, but then again having his leg sawed off at the knee would also have been novel. He desperately wanted the old Harry back, as a calming influence. This Harry was about as calming as a small parrot that had just consumed a half pound tin of coffee beans.