Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"I'm Scottish," said Sirius. "I want to have a Scottish wedding."

Narcissa's mouth twitched into a smile, but she still didn't look up.

"I told you that you could wear a skirt if you wanted," she began.

"Kilt," interrupted Sirius, but she ignored him.

"And frankly, I don't care if you wear suspenders and high heels to go with it. And I told you we could serve haggis, and if you want to spend all afternoon tossing the caber in the back yard, that's fine too. But I cannot subject my friends and loved ones to bagpipe music. Think what Draco would say."

"Think what he'll say when you tell him he has to wear that suit you picked out."

"That suit is charming," said Narcissa, but she was definitely smiling now. She looked up and grinned at him, and he smiled back at her.

Like her son's, Narcissa's hair bleached easily in the sun, and now hung in long salt-white ringlets down her back. She looked like she had when they were at school together, he thought. And she did look a great deal like Draco, only the curves of her face were more rounded than his, her chin not as pointy, but the silver-gray eyes that tilted at the edges were the same.

"He'll hate it," said Sirius, positively.

"You don't know that."

"I do know that."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You must overcome this delusion that Draco is an exact copy of you when you were his age, Sirius," she said. "I agree you would have hated that suit, but Draco likes clothes, he always has, and — "

"And I'll bet you fifty galleons he sets that suit on fire before he agrees to wear it."

Narcissa suddenly become very interested in her magazine.

"Don't want to bet me, do you?" grinned Sirius. "How about, if I win the bet, I get to have bagpipes?"

"No bagpipes," said Narcissa in a muffled voice.

"There will be bagpipes, or there will be bloodshed," said Sirius.

"Then it'll be a lot like my last wedding," said Narcissa with an evil grin.

When she smiled like that, Sirius thought, she really did look like her son.

"Er," said a voice — neither Narcissa's nor Sirius' — from the corner of the room, and both Sirius and Narcissa jumped. "I'm sorry to intrude, but — "

Sirius leaped to his feet, staring at the fireplace. "Remus?"

"I'm sorry," repeated Lupin, whose head and shoulders were visible in the ornamental fireplace in the corner of the room. He looked extremely unhappy. "I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important."

His eyes flicked over to the bed. "Sorry, Narcissa."

She pushed the magazines away and looked anxiously from Lupin to Sirius. "Is everything all right?"

"Harry," said Sirius, dropping down on his knees next to the fireplace. "Has something happened to Harry?"

"He's gone," said Lupin heavily, and felt even guiltier than he already had as the color drained out of Sirius' face.

"Gone?"

"He's gone, his broomstick's gone. My office is destroyed, and the sword I was telling you about — that's gone, too."

"Draco," said Narcissa quickly. "Have you asked him where Harry is?"

"I can't," said Lupin. "He's gone, too."

Narcissa went as white as Sirius had.

"So they're together," said Sirius. "Are you sure they destroyed your office?"

"Positive," said Lupin. "Remember that snow globe you gave me, with the redheaded nymph in it? Well, she saw them come in. They took some implements of mine — an Orb of Thessala, some other things. And they took the sword." He winced. "They smashed the case I put it in. It was adamantine. I've no idea how they did that. I couldn't have done it."

"They're Magids," said Sirius hoarsely.

"They're children," said Narcissa, standing up. "They took the sword

— what does that mean? Will it hurt them?"

"I honestly don't know," said Lupin. "I've been searching all day in my books for some mention, some idea what might happen. I can't find anything but vaguely worded prophecies." He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, and Sirius saw that his fingers were grained with ink. "But if you're asking me whether it might hurt them, the answer is yes. Yes, they might well be in danger."

"We're coming home," said Sirius. "Right now."

Lupin's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thanks, Padfoot."

"Thanks has nothing to do with it," said Sirius, looking anxiously at Lupin. "This is Harry we're talking about. My responsibility. And Draco. My responsibility too. I should have paid more attention to what you said last time we talked, about them being in worse trouble than we could possibly imagine."

"I really didn't think this would happen," said Lupin, looking defeated. "I've got no idea what I'm going to tell Dumbledore, I don't know if even he knows what the possibilities are-"

Sirius looked like something had just occurred to him. "Remus," he interrupted. "How long has it been since you've been back to the Forbidden Forest?"

"The — the Forest?" said Lupin blankly. "God. Ages."

"If I tell you where to go, could you — could you go there for me and meet someone I think could help us?"

"Go to the Forbidden Forest and meet someone for you?" Lupin repeated, looking bewildered.

"Would I ask you if it wasn't important?"

"Yes," said Lupin, firmly.

"Moony…"

"All right, all right," said Lupin. "What do you want me to do?"

"Stop that," said Harry irritably. "It's extremely annoying."

He glared over at Draco, who made a face back at him. In the two hours since Ron and Ginny had been gone, Draco had discovered that if he held out his hand, palm up, towards Slytherin's sword, it would leap off the ground and into his grasp. This had struck him as such a neat trick that he kept tossing the sword several feet away, making it jump towards him, and then repeating the process. It was giving Harry a headache.

On the other hand, Harry thought, with a twinge of guilt, the pain of having a broken leg must have been awful, and so far Draco hadn't complained.

"Malfoy," he said.

Draco looked up. "What?"

"When the Dementors get near you, what do you hear?"

Draco looked at him narrowly. "A cappella singing," he said finally.

"I hate a cappella singing."

"Very funny. What do you really hear?"

Draco was unable to repress a very small shudder. "Horrible things," he said.

"Well, if you quit flinging that sword around, I'll teach you how to get rid of them."

Draco hesitated for a moment, then laid the sword down carefully next to him. He looked over at Harry, who got up from where he was sitting, came over, and sat down next to Draco, trying to remember exactly how it was that Lupin had explained the Patronus spell to him three years ago.

"Okay," said Harry. "First you've got to think of a happy memory."

Draco blinked. "A what?"

"A happy memory. It's important. The happiest memory you can think of, and you have to really concentrate on it."

Draco shut his eyes and thought. And thought. A happy memory.

When had he been happy? Not with his parents, certainly. Not at school. He thought of the wardrobe back at Malfoy Manor, of sitting there with Hermione, eating Chocolate Frogs and kissing. He thought of the night that he had prevented his father from killing Harry, how afterward he had lain in the grass with Harry and Sirius and Hermione sitting around him, and Hermione had told him that he had been amazing and brave. But these memories were colored now by the knowledge that she didn't, in fact, love him, and although he knew that and accepted it, probing the memories too much still set off small agonies inside him, like the pain-warnings of a broken tooth.

He opened his silver eyes and looked at Harry. "I haven't got one," he said.

Harry looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said," said Draco. "I haven't got a happy memory." He shrugged. "Don't make a big deal about it, Potter."