Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

But I will let you off the hook on account of today being your birthday."

"Listen to this," said Ron, rolling over on his back and holding ther Prophet open above him. "´Happy Birthday Harry: The interest of the wizarding world, so long riveted on the mysterious disappeance of the Boy Who Lived, will tonight center around a much happier event: his seventeenth birthday party, held this year at Malfoy Manor, the ancient familial seat of the powerful Malfoy clan, now home as well to Sirius Black….all right this bit's boring, so I'm skipping it…enormous guest list, blah blah, hundreds of wizards and witches invited, blah, including MOM Arthur Weasley, and Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, miraculously recovered from his state of magically induced stasis…"A miracle of wizarding medicine," says Dr. Simon Branford-"

"It was NOT a miracle," snapped Ginny irritably. "It was because Draco killed Slytherin, so all his spells ended."

"Branford's a bit of a prat," said Sirius absently. He was engaged in using his wand to flip open the various boxes littering his desk.

Draco, lounging against the side of the desk, watched with half-interested, lidded eyes.

"But you invited him to the party anyway," pointed out Narcissa. "Is there anyone you didn't invite, Sirius?"

Sirius shrugged. "I wanted Harry to have a big celebration," he said. winking over at his godson. "To make up for all those missed birthdays."

"I'd rather have big presents that a big party," said Harry, sliding down to sit on the floor next to Ron, with his back against Hermione's legs.

"Size doesn't matter, Harry," said Ginny, with a grin.

"Oooh, a zinger from little miss Weasley," said Draco, a smile curling his mouth. "And here I was worried that you'd been depressed ever since we sent your boyfriend back to the Stone Age."

"He was not my boyfriend, and it was the Dark Ages," said Ginny, and pretended to be distracted by something moving along the edge of Sirius' desk. "What are those, Sirius?"

Sirius glanced over. "Oh, the action figure prototypes."

"The WHAT?" demanded Ron.

Harry looked sheepish, Draco smug.

Sirius shrugged. "The same people who do the Chocolate Frog cards wanted to know if they could market action figures of Harry and Draco…as a promotional device. So they sent some prototypes for approval."

"And did you approve them?" demanded Ginny, fascinated. She got to her feet just as the Draco action figure poked the Harry action figure hard in the back, sending it tumbling off the edge of the desk.

The Draco action figure chortled to itself and did a malevolent dance. Ginny bent down, picked up the little Harry figure — which looked just like him, in miniature scarlet Quidditch robes — and set it on its feet. "Poor Harry," she said.

"No, we didn't approve them," said Sirius. "Chocolate frog cards are enough — Draco and Harry don't need their faces plastered on all the wizarding billboard from here to Ottery St Catchpole, selling everything from Toothflossing Stringmints to fancy broomsticks."

"Besides, I didn't like mine," said Draco, looking critically down at the miniature Draco, which looked like an exact copy of himself, even down to the tiny smirk. "It doesn't look like me…if you catch my meaning."

Harry glanced over. Obviously *he * caught Dracoś meaning. "You took the clothes off your action figure, didn't you, Malfoy?"

Now Draco looked slightly pink. "Well, I-"

Harry's eyebrows drew together. "Did you take the clothes off my action figure?"

"Will you look at the time," announced Draco, and scooted sideways towards the door. "I must go get dressed."

Ginny and Hermione bubbled with laughter as Harry jumped to his feet, stepping over Ron, and stood with his hands on his hips, glaring. "Malfoy!" he yelled, as Draco fumbled with the door handle.

"Get back here!"

At that moment there was a loud POP and Arthur Weasleyś head and shoulders appeared in the fireplace. Draco paused by the door.

"Hallo, Sirius," Arthur said genially, shedding soot.

"You´re early," said Sirius, glancing at the clock over the mantel.

"´Lo, Dad," said Ron, waving but not getting up.

"I'm not staying," said Arthur. "I just wanted to let you know that I've heard from Charlie down at the camp- he will be able to come after all. I know it's last minute — "

"Good," interrupted Sirius, looking genuinely pleased. "It's no problem, Arthur. I told you to bring the whole family."

Hermione looked over at Draco. His face wasn't nearly as expressive as Sirius', but she could tell from the quick flash of his eyes that he, too, was pleased that Charlie would be there. As if he felt her gaze on him, his eyes slid over to Hermione, and locked with hers for a moment. She read the message in them clearly, and got to her feet.

"I'd better go get dressed," she said, lightly touching Harry's shoulder.

He looked up at her. "We've got hours yet."

Ron snorted. "You know how long it took her to get ready for the Yule Ball."

"Good point," said Harry.

"Maybe if you spent as much time on your hair, Harry," Hermione said, and avoided with a little hop his playful swipe at her ankle.

She felt Draco's eyes on her as she left, and hoped Harry wouldn't notice, and that Draco would have enough sense to wait a decent interval of time before he followed her out of the room.

She was just laying her dress out on the bed when she heard his knock.

Wearing a black Chinese silk robe and slippers, Hermione crossed the room and drew the door back, and for a moment, when she saw Draco standing there in the doorway with the torchlight behind him turning his hair into a silvery halo, she felt a sour-sweet ache at the back of her throat, and swallowed hard against it. He was wearing dark robes and his hair was damp, as if he had come straight from the shower. He smelled faintly of soap and lemon zest. "Draco. What is it?"

"The last of the ingredients," he said, and held out a diffident hand towards her. He was holding a dark-brown wrapped parcel, and Hermione smiled as she reached and took it out of his hand.

"Rosemary, spiderwebs, dried forget-me-nots," she said, peeling back the wrapping on the parcel and peering inside. "That's everything. Well, almost everything."

Draco leaned against the architrave. He seemed disinclined to come into the room, and equally disinclined to leave. "What else do you need?"

"You," she said, without thinking.

He raised his eyes up to hers, and she felt herself flush at the momentary wicked flash of almost-laughter that brightened, then darkened his expression. It was easy sometimes to forget, with Draco, that spark of dangerousness that threaded behind his every expression like a live current.

He held his arms out, crossed at the wrists, and smiled blandly at her. "Whatever you need," he said.

She didn't reach to take his hands. "Go sit on the bed," she said.

He went obediently and sat on the bed, where he clashed horribly with the pink, flower-sprigged duvet cover. Hermione scooped the remainder of the Pensieve ingredients up off her bureau and went to sit opposite him. She placed the shallow white bowl between them, dropped into in it the ingredients Draco had brought her, mixed with a Memory Potion she had made the day before and some yarrow root. The mixture smoked and steamed a little before settling into a greenish paste.

She looked over at Draco, who looked mildly anxious, as if he were about to have his pulse taken. "Now it's up to you," she said.

"Usually you'd need a wand at this point, but I suppose in your case you can do it without. Just concentrate on the memories you want preserved in the Pensieve, then draw them out and put them in the bowl."

"Thanks," he said, his silver eyes unreadable. She sensed that he wanted to be left alone for a moment, so she stood, retrieved her dress, stockings and shoes from the bed, and went into the adjacent bathroom to change, closing the door firmly behind her.