Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

The dress she had chosen to wear that evening was modeled as closely as memory allowed on the dress Narcissa had given her to wear at the Mansion so many months ago — still her favorite article of clothing she had ever owned, albeit briefly. Only the color was different: a dark rich cinnamon brown instead of lilac. It had the same fitted bodice, lacing up the back, the same full skirt and wide scooped neck showing rather more of her shoulders and the top of her chest than she was generally used to. With it went sheer silk stockings and a dramatic pair of high, strappy shoes. She glanced at herself in the tiny mirror over the sink but it gave her back only a tiny part of her reflection, so, gathering up her full skirts with one hand, she went back into the bedroom.

Draco was still sitting on the bed, staring down into the Pensieve, in which a whitish smoke was now swirling. When he saw her, his eyes widened and then darkened, and although all he said was, "All dressed up, then?" she knew he admired the way she looked, and, more than that, remembered the original dress that this one was modeled after. Of course he would. Draco noticed things like that.

"You're done," she said, indicating the Pensieve with a jerk of her chin.

Draco nodded. "Mmm. It was easy."

She went over to the larger mirror that hung over the vanity table.

She looked at herself briefly, then picked up the necklace she'd been planning to wear that night — a topaz on the end of a silver chain -

and reached to drape it around her throat. Feeling unaccountably nervous, she fumbled the clasp.

Draco stood up, putting the Pensieve down on the bed. "You want help with that?"

"Oh. If you don't mind." She hesitated for a moment, then reached around and put the necklace into his hand. He looped the slender chain, bowing under the weight of the smoky topaz charm, around her throat, and paused, his hands just brushing the curve where her neck met her shoulder. She felt the tiny hairs all up and down the sides of her arms prickle as he looked at her, his eyes gone dark and serious, and suddenly she saw herself as he saw her — the smooth curves of pale-peach skin rising from the bodice of cinnamon silk, the very dark curls of hair, so carefully arranged, looping like hyacinth tendrils around her face, her wide dark eyes, her full lower lip, trembling now with nervousness. The feel of his hands on her skin was familiar and not familiar — he was so much a part of Harry, although he looked so different. If she closed her eyes, she had to remind herself whose hands were on her. Silver hair not black, gray eyes not green. She spun around in the circle of his arms and heard the snap as he closed the clasp of the necklace, and stepped back and away from her.

He was breathing quickly. "Done," he said lightly.

"Draco — "

"Don't," he said, and then, "You look beautiful."

And she knew she did, maybe more beautiful than she would ever look again. She spoke then without thinking. "Is there something between you and Ginny?" she heard herself ask.

The words hung there between them, and for a moment she saw him look suddenly vulnerable — he had gained back some of the weight he'd lost during the past months, but his shoulders still seemed narrow under the thin cloth of his shirt, the planes of his face very sharp. He said, weighting his words carefully, "For there to be something between me and Ginny, there would have to be something of myself I could give her. And I don't think there's much of me left to give anyone right now."

"Draco. You're the wholest person I know."

"More so than Harry?"

"You're the same."

He shook his head. "I have to wait."

She bit her lip. "Don't wait to be happy," she said, her voice tight.

"Is that what you want for me?" he said, and there was a little edge in his voice, the bright cutting side of a razor. "To be happy?"

"More than anything," she said, and there was truth in that, and a little bit of a lie.

He stood there for a moment, very still. Then he turned and lifted the finished Pensieve off the bed. "Thanks for this," he said. "I couldn't have — not without you."

"Draco — " she burst out, without really knowing what she was saying, "if things were different — "

"Stop," he said, and she did. He looked at her for a long time, standing so still that every previous stillness of his seemed an incomplete copy of this one. Finally, he spoke, and she closed her eyes as he spoke, hearing only the cadences of his soft voice, and the words it shaped. "For a long time," he said, "I waited to hear you say that if there was no Harry in your life, then you would be with me. I waited, but you never said it, and finally I realized that you never would. Not because you don´t want me. Just because it doesn´t matter. Because you would never imagine a life for yourself without Harry in it."

She looked at him, profoundly shaken. Her voice, when she spoke, was just above a whisper, "You can love more than one person at once, you know."

"Oh, yes," he said. "I know."

"But you have to make choices," she said.

He looked away from her. The torchlight painted his pale hair with gold. "We are only given one life," he said. "I remember."

Her heart contracted. "Draco-"

"I´ll see you at the party," he said, and backed towards the door.

She stared at him as he went out, letting the door slam shut behind him. Then Hermione stood and looked after him for a long time.

Sirius looked around himself in wonder. Narcissa had transformed the Manor's grand ballroom, previously a vast, dank, and cavernous space, into a wonderland of light and color. On the western terrace, Sibby Malone & The Electric Piccolo Bandś Roadie Elves were setting up the bandś gear. The heavy velvet drapes had been stripped from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the length of the western wall; beyond the windows, the grounds could be seen, sloping down to a lake the color of dark malachite and a distant border of trees. Above the treetops, the sun was going down in a welter of blood and topaz, suffusing the ballroom with a rose-glowing, ethereal light.

Not that it needed any more light. Everywhere were strung ropes of glowing multicolored lanterns. Their shapes changed as they twisted lazily in the air — a lamp would be a glowing bee at one moment, a radiant starburst the next. The lanterns cast deep patches of color against the pale marble floor, patterned with glowing golden stars in the shapes of familiar constellations. Narcissa had consulted a professional Diviner who assured her that the configurations of the stars were the very luckiest, promising luck, love, and beneficence to the birthday boy. Long rosewood tables lined the walls, piled high with all manner of fanciful culinary concoctions, and a spectacular bar, tended by Madam Rosmerta, who had jumped at the chance to come down from Hogsmeade for the occasion, was lined with multicolored drinks that smoked and steamed.

"It's beautiful," said Sirius, turning to Narcissa, who smiled at him.

She was looking unusually lovely in lilac silk robes with a gorgeously beaded bodice. "And so are you."

Narcissa beamed — like her son, she smiled rarely, and like her son, the rarity of her smiles made their laser-bright radiance all the more spectacular. "You don't look too bad yourself." She fingered the lapel of Sirius' elegant dark suit. "Kenneth Troll?"

"Armani for wizards. Narcissa — I appreciate you doing all this for Harry. Especially when Draco didn't even want a party for himself."

Her smile turned a little sad. "I suppose this is still for him in a way, even if I won't admit it. Maybe that's wrong of me-"

"No. If it makes Harry happy, Draco will be pleased. Although he'd rather be tortured to death by pixies than admit it."