Кассандра Клэр: Draco Sinister

Draco started slightly. "Did she? I didn´t see it."

"You hadn´t borrowed a pair of Fred and George Weasleyś X-Ray Specs."

Draco almost smiled. 'Do those things really work?"

Now Dumbledoreś eyes did twinkle. "I think they work extremely well." He sobered then, and his expression darkened. "Draco…what was in the message she delivered?"

Draco looked down. "The truth," he said. "And probably some lies.

Headmaster…" He took a deep breath. "My father is alive."

Draco held his body tensed for the headmasterś reaction, but there was none.

"Yes," said Dumbledore mildly. "I rather thought he might be."

There was a silence then; only the crackling of the fire broke it.

"Thereś more than that," Draco said finally. He turned and met his own reflection in the mirror again. Over his shoulder, he could see the headmaster watching him. "Heś in service to Voldemort…and he was glad I´d killed Slytherin. He said I´d taken care of the only wizard who could possibly have been an impediment to the Dark Lordś rise."

"Did he, now." Dumbledore was looking at the fire, his face impassive. "What does that mean to you, Draco?"

"That nothing I do is right." Draco leaned forward until his forehead was resting against his clenched fist on the mantel. "Whatever part of Harry is in me….whatever that voice is that says to struggle and not to waver and to do whatś right… it doesn´t work, not in me. I told Slytherin once that you can´t do good with powers that come from Hell. I thought I was doing the right thing and all I did was clear a path for the Dark Lordś rise."

"Only if you choose to look at it that way." The Headmasterś voice was clear and steady. "Or you could look at it this way. Salazar Slytherin was an immensely evil, immensely powerful sorcerer.

Unopposed, he would without doubt have conquered the wizarding world, and the toll of death and destruction would have been immense. That you prevented. We will deal with Voldemort in our own time. In any case, the battle against Slytherin was yours to fight. The battle against Voldemort…that is Harryś."

"But if I had known…"

"What would you have done differently? At what point could you have stepped aside? Life is not easy, Draco. The past tempts us, the present confuses us, and the future frightens us. No choice is simple and no one can know what the future holds. Do you think that Harry, when he chose to share the Triwizard Cup with Cedric, knew that it would result in Cedricś death? Did Sirius know that when he trusted Peter Pettigrew, it would mean the death of James and Lily?

What matters is that one fragile moment, the moment of choice. If what you chose was right, no one and nothing can take that from you, not even the uncertainty of the future."

Draco didn´t life his head, but he felt a slight resettling inside himself, as if a weight had shifted. "Thereś one other thing," he said. "Something I don´t understand."

The Headmaster raised his hand, and the fireplace poker flew into it. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as Dumbledore poked quietly at the fire, sending up a hissing rush of colored sparks.

"What is it, Draco?"

"Slytherin said that I shouldn´t have been able to fight him…and for a long time I couldn´t, couldn´t fight the pull of the sword, couldn´t act against it. And then, suddenly, I found that I could, just after I killed the manticore — something happened that made me able to act against him. Even after he put the Dark Mark on me. It should have been impossible, shouldn´t it? Slytherin said I was, must be……defective, somehow."

"Only if love is a defect," said Dumbledore.

Draco turned his head. "What do you mean?"

"What you did…telling Harry about his parents — "

Draco winced slightly.

"Don´t look like that. What you did for Harry, you did to save his life, knowing it might cost you your best friend," (at this, Draco looked slightly green) "the only other person in the world who holds a piece of your soul, just as you hold a piece of his. You aren´t yourself without Harry, and Harry, whether he knows it or not, isn´t himself without you. To risk that was an act of great unselfishness.

Evil like Slytherinś, evil like that which prompted his acquisition of that sword, evil like that which the sword itself is made of, doesn´t understand that, can´t grasp it. And in losing its grasp, it lost its hold over you. If Slytherin says you are defective, it was because you were created to be what he was — a windowless room. What happened between you and Harry, the link that was forged by the Potion, cut a window into that darkness. Now you can look out and see the stars. Consider that a defect, if you wish to. I do not."

"But I saw myself…." Draco whispered, his voice steady but harsh. "I saw in the Mirror of Judgement…what I really am. I am defective."

"There is no Mirror of Judgement." Dumbledoreś voice was sharp now with what was almost anger. "For the son of such a cynical family, you´re awfully trusting. Slytherin lied to you. There was a mirror made at the same time as the Mirror of Erised, to be its twin.

When you look in it, you see not what you most desire — but what you most fear. That is not reality. Those are the black terrors of your own mind." Dumbledore shook his head. "You´ve lived a short life, Draco Malfoy. In that short life, you´ve been many things.

Spiteful sometimes, foolish as well; you´ve lied to bring harm to others, and been silent when you should have spoken out. But you´ve changed. No mirror that does not reflect the profundity of that change is a true reflection of what you are. If you can´t see it, then trust the reflection you see in the eyes of your friends…what do they see when they look at you? What does Sirius see, what does Hermione see, what does Harry see? I think you know the answer to that."

Draco swallowed hard against something that had been blocking his throat for what seemed like a long time. Swallowed hard, and turned and straightened his shoulders. He looked down at his hand, where the signet ring glittered against the pale skin. Hands so much like Harryś, the same slender articulation of bones, the same squared-off nails, the only physical remaining sign that generations ago, their forefathers had been cousins. He said, "I wanted to tell Harry about my father, but itś his birthday — I can´t do it now. If I tell Sirius and my mother, it might wreck their wedding plans. But I should — "

"Draco." The Headmaster put a hand on his shoulder. "You told me.

Thatś all you need to do. Trouble will come in its own time, there is no need to run towards it. Right now, thereś a party going on just outside this room. Go to it. Enjoy yourself. Be with your friends."

Draco nodded, and went to the door. The Headmaster watched the boy as he crossed the room, the firelight striking cold silver sparks from his hair, the set of his shoulders so like that of another boy Dumbledore had once taught, another boy with silver hair and eyes like gray morning light. Lucius. Who, like his son, had been touched by destiny; the mark of something special had been on him, as it was on Draco. Whether Draco was meant for a greater good or a greater darkness, Dumbledore could not be sure. There was no way to be sure. He could only wait.

"Thanks everyone," said Harry, and stifled a yawn. Hermione put her arms around him and pulled him back against her shoulder.

"Best presents I´ve ever gotten."

It was just after midnight, and Harry sat amongst a pile of torn-away wrappings in the downstairs drawing room. The party was still going on in the ballroom, although at a fraction of the crowd and volume it had been at earlier. Only a few guests were left — Percy and Honoria were snogging at a table near the windows, and Angelina and Jana were looking bored while they watched Fred and George leap in and out of a magical fountain Mad-Eye Moody had conjured up during a brief fit of good humor. Fleur and Bill had vanished.