Кассандра Клэр: Draco Sinister

Lupin had been forced by Sirius to accompany Heidi to her London flat. Hagrid was massively asleep and snoring in a corner. The Weasley parents had long ago Apparated home, and now only what Draco privately thought of as "the family" remained — Narcissa and Sirius, Ron and Ginny, and Harry and Hermione, grouped around the dying fire, oohing and aahing over Harryś birthday gifts. Ginny had given Harry an ancient Gryffindor Galleon from the Weasley cellars, and Sirius had given him an Invisibility Cloak to replace the one destroyed by Slytherin. "I can´t help thinking I´m just giving you something that will help you get into trouble," Sirius grinned over Harryś protests, "but your father wanted you to have his, so -

here you go." Hermione had given him a watch, Narcissa a fancy new broomstick case, and Ron had given him a an object which made Hermione shriek out loud with laughter when it was unwrapped — a round black ball with a clear glass window cut into it.

One was supposed to ask it a question and then shake it, and words would appear in the window in answer to the query. "A real Magic 8-Ball," Hermione giggled. "Ask it something, Harry."

Harry looked for a moment hesitant and serious; then his face relaxed into a smile, and he asked, "Will I get into trouble with the Invisibility Cloak Sirius gave me?"

Everyone gathered round to see the words form in the glass window: Of course you will, Harry.

Hermione pealed with laughter. Ron plucked it out of Harryś hand and examined it thoughtfully. "Is Honoria really wearing leopard-skin underwear?" he demanded.

Not at the moment, said the ball.

"Gracious," said Ginny. "It really does work, doesn´t it?" She poked it with her finger. "Will Draco ever wear leather trousers again?"

As everyone crowded around giggling, Draco looked up and over at Harry. Potter, he thought. Could I talk to you for a second?

Harry looked up, over Ronś bent head. What, here?

Draco had stood up, quiet as a cat, and backed away from the group. He crossed the room to the far wall, which was a bank of windows, and turned back to face Harry. Over here. Just for a second.

Harry got to his feet, extricating himself without much trouble from the giggling group, said something quietly in Hermioneś ear, and came over to stand near Draco. Draco watched him as he crossed the room, and thought to himself with no little surprise that Harry did seem different, somehow, subtly. He had given so much thought to how recent events had changed him, and had not thought how they might have changed Harry. Harry seemed both more confident now and quieter, as if he had found a still center to himself he had not previously known he possessed. There was also about him an air of sadness, a melancholy-prince sorrow that Draco both empathized with, and felt responsible for. Itś my fault.

"What is it, Malfoy?" asked Harry neutrally, once he was within speaking range. He leaned against the window next to Draco, his hands in his pockets, a small smile on his lips. "You look a bit dire."

Whatever carefully prepared speech Draco might have had in his head melted like snow in June thanks to his wholly unexpected sudden onslaught of nerves. "Birthday present," he croaked, and held out his hand, and the object in it, to Harry.

"Whatś this?" Harry asked, looking down, the smile on his face only just fading to be replaced by a look of blank curiosity. "Is it a Pensieve?"

Draco nodded. He seemed to be having trouble finding the proper words. "Yes," he said finally. "It has my memories in it. Memories of

— dying. My memories of your parents. Their ghosts, anyway."

Harry stiffened. His face went blank, smooth and unreadable.

Feeling that he had made a horrible mistake, Draco said nothing. He glanced over at the others, who were still playing with the 8-Ball and paying the boys no attention at all. Surely Hermione wouldn´t have let him go ahead with this if she´d thought that Harry would -

"Your memories?" Harry echoed finally. "My….parents?"

Dracoś hands were wet with sweat. He said, "I know itś not an ordinary sort of birthday present. Hell, itś not an ordinary sort of anything. I´d have given you this, though, even if it wasn´t your birthday. You have a right to it, Potter. You should have been the one down there, not me."

"Ah," said Harry, and the ghost of a smile flitted across his face, "so I should have been the one who died, then?"

Draco unclenched his hands. "You know thatś not what I meant."

He looked more closely at Harry. "But I know, if you could go there and come back — and knew you could come back — you would go."

"I know." Harry reached out and took Dracoś gift, eyes dark. "I would, wouldn´t I?"

"Potter-"

"I don´t know when I´ll be able to look at this," added Harry, with perfect honesty, his hand tight on the rim of the Pensieve.

"No," said Draco, and looked back at his reflection in the dark window. The image in the glass was shadowy: he could see only the outline of his own face, the curve of chin and cheekbone, the grooves at his temples. Seen like this he and Harry didn´t look so different. "But you have the right."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I guess I do."

"You won´t like everything you hear and see," said Draco.

"No," said Harry. "I don´t expect to."

"I didn´t want to hurt you any more," said Draco. His voice was dry.

"Still don´t. But otherwise — "

"I was jealous," said Harry calmly.

Draco blinked. "You were what?"

"I was jealous," said Harry. His eyes were dark malachite in the shadowy half-light. "You got to see my parents and I didn´t. I was jealous and it tore me up inside." He lifted the Pensieve, slightly.

"This makes it better."

"Nothing can fix what I did to you," said Draco.

"Maybe," said Harry. "Maybe not."

Draco looked down at his hand where it rested on the windowsill.

Harry followed his gaze. He noticed with a faint surprise the heavy onyx ring that swallowed up Dracoś slender finger. It was new; he didn´t remember it. A birthday present perhaps.

"What about next year?" said Draco suddenly.

"Next year?" Harry was lost.

"Next school year. Back at Hogwarts. Are we friends there, or not?

Do we talk to each other? Ignore each other? Pass in the hallways without speaking?"

"Er…" Harry was still a bit lost. "Is that what you want?"

Draco said, "No."

"Everyone knows we´re brothers now." Harry said this very simply, with no emphasis on the word brothers. He saw Draco react to it anyway; his eyes flashed a darker gray for a moment.

"I suspect," said Draco, "that they all assume we´re suffering rather horribly over that fact."

Harry meditated for a moment. "We´re team captains against each other next year," he said, thoughtfully. "The Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry is very important to both houses, and letś face it, we´re the figureheads for it. Plus, everyone in my house will look funny at me if I start hanging about with you, and as for you, I don´t even like to think what the Slytherins´ll do to you if you start hanging about with me."

"Probably it will involve some kind of scaffold," said Draco.

"I´m afraid thereś nothing for it," began Harry.

"Oh," Dracoś voice sounded a bit brittle, "so we´re not friends then? Good, then, I just thought we ought to clear that up and — "

"We´ll have to fake it," finished Harry.

"Fake it? Fake what?" Now Draco looked lost.

"Hating each other of course," said Harry. "Can´t let everyone down, can we?"

"But we´ll know we don´t hate each other?"

"Right," said Harry, with a grin.

"You´re mad, Potter."

"So says the Daily Prophet," agreed Harry. "Of course, that was because you told them I drool."

"Oh, right." Now Draco smiled, grudgingly. "I guess it won´t be that hard to fake it. Will it?"