Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

Sirius shook his head. "Hermione's a strong-willed girl."

"That's what I'm worried about," said Lupin, flipping morosely through Moste Potente Potions. "You've seen what can happen to people who fight the Imperius Curse. Madness…if they're lucky…"

"Don't," interrupted Sirius, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. He reached out for a piece of parchment, lifted his quill, and stared moodily.

"What?" said Lupin, looking down at the top of his head.

"Snape," said Sirius, gloomily.

"Yes, what about him?"

"Oh, come on Moony! If I write and ask him for a favor, d'you really think he'll hop right to it? He HATES me!"

"Probably on account of that one time you tormented him mercilessly for seven years straight when we were in school," said Lupin, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Yes, he's tetchy that way," agreed Sirius. Then his eyes lit up suddenly and he smiled.

Lupin gave him a very suspicious glance. "Something just occurred to you, didn't it?"

"Well," said Sirius, a small smile still hovering around his mouth, "Snape wouldn't be jumping to do me a favor…or you a favor, admit it, he hates you too — and he'd rather have his leg eaten by a Blast-Ended Skrewt than do Harry a favor, but there is someone he does like…"

"Draco," said Lupin, and paused. "But he's not here. Hermione said he went off to be by himself."

"Can't blame him," said Sirius. "Just as I'm sure he wouldn't blame me for this," and he picked up the quill and began writing furiously.

"Are you forging a letter from Draco?" asked Lupin, with detached interest.

"Yep," said Sirius. "Hand me that Malfoy family seal, will you, it's in the third drawer…"

"That's rather dishonest," said Lupin, handing him the seal.

Sirius slammed the quill down on the table and glared at his friend.

"Do you have a better idea?"

Lupin thought for a moment. "Not really."

"You saw the look on Harry's face didn't you? And Hermione — it's not fair, they're just children, they shouldn't have to-"

"Sirius," interrupted Lupin, tugging the quill out of his friend's hand. "Your-"

"Moony!" protested Sirius, in exasperation. "I am sending this letter, and nothing you can say — "

"Your hand is shaking, is what I was going to say. Give me the parchment, I know Draco's handwriting from when I had him in class. Let me do it."

"I can't," said Draco.

Lucius' mouth tightened. "You're weak," he said. "That's partly my fault."

Draco didn't respond. Without seeming to be aware of it, he had backed up, away from his father, until he was standing against the wall. "What happens if I don't do anything?" he said, in a dry voice, finally. "Do I go mad?"

"What do you think?" said Lucius. He began to walk towards his son, slowly, looking thoughtful. "As you know of him, so Slytherin knows of your existence now. Either you join with him, or he will kill you."

He was standing very close to Draco now. The boy looked down, but it was too late — Lucius' hand shot out and seized his chin, forcing his head up.

"There is an intricate mechanism inside you, boy," he said. "The Dark Lord wound you up like clockwork and set you on this path. It could be a path to greatness. This could be your second chance. Our second chance. This is what you were designed for. How many men can say they were born to a purpose? But you-"

"What if I fight it?" Draco demanded, his voice taking on a slightly wild tone. "What then?"

"What happens to a watch when you wind it backwards?" replied Lucius. "It breaks."

Draco sucked in a gasp as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

Lucius took no notice.

"Why would you want to fight it, anyway?" he demanded, still staring at his son. "Are you trying to be good?"

Lucius had his own special way of saying the word good — not as if it were an adjective, describing a good boy, or a good dog, but very definitely a noun: Good, and not a pleasant noun at that. Draco, of course, would know exactly what he meant.

"No," Draco said, quickly, and then, "I don't know." He glared at his father. "I just want to have a choice."

"You think you have a choice now? You don't have a choice now.

You're a slave to what you think you want, like everyone else. You think I didn't see your face, back at the Mansion, when you looked at them, and at her, and her face when she looked at you both? Do you want to barter your destiny for the friendship of a boy who will never like you, and the favors of a girl who doesn't return your love? To ally yourself with people who will never regard you with anything more than suspicion and mistrust? They are not our kind of people, and they never will be. You will never belong with them."

As he spoke, Lucius watched the changing colors in his son's face -

first white, then very red, then white again. He could tell Draco was struggling to hide whatever it was he was feeling, and from that alone, knew that he was hurting him. Which was as it should be. He was his son, his to help or to hurt as he saw fit.

"You can't change what you are, Draco," he said, his voice soft and unyielding. "And they know that. Dumbledore, Sirius Black, even your new friend Harry Potter — they know that there is something they have that you don't, some essential fragment missing from your soul that makes you different. Call it morality, or whatever you like. But you can't change it. You'll never be like them. You can wear the guise of morality, but underneath it you are what I made you to be."

For a moment, Draco returned his father's gaze without moving.

Then his eyes darkened, and he yanked his head away, breaking Lucius' grip on his chin.

"Let me go," he said.

I've lost him, thought Lucius, astonished, as his son, not meeting his eyes, slid away from him along the wall. I almost had him — There was something I could have said, something that would have worked, would have broken him down. But I've lost him.

Disappointment and rage made his voice harsh when he spoke, "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Draco stopped moving away from his father and paused. He was still leaning against the wall, and something about the way he was leaning made Lucius wonder if the wall was the only thing keeping him upright.

He lifted his head, and looked at his father. Fear and pain and rage had made his eyes nearly black, and for that moment, they looked very much alike. "You want me dead?" said Draco. "Fine." He reached up, took hold of the Epicyclical Charm that hung around his neck, and, without a moment's hesitation, drew it over his head and threw it at his father. Reflexively, Lucius Malfoy reached up and caught the bright circular object out of the air. And stared at it.

"For you, Father," said Draco. " Go ahead. Break it. Crush it. I'll be dead before the guard can get into the room." Lucius didn't move.

Just stared at his son, who stared back out of blazing eyes, and hissed, "What are you afraid of? You're already in here for life.

They'll never let you out. Go on — do it!"

"No," said Lucius, closing his hand gently around the charm.

Draco stared.

"I don't want you dead, boy," said Lucius, with a slight smile. "I've changed my mind. I want the satisfaction of knowing that you are alive and that you suffer. That you grow and suffer, knowing what you have done to destroy our family and how you have condemned me to rot in this Hell. I hope it eats you alive." He glared at his son.

"Now get out of here. I'm sick of the sight of you."

Draco backed away. Then he turned and rapped hard on the cell door. He stood for a moment, waiting, his back to his father. Then, as he heard the wards on the other side of the door being unlocked, he turned back around, very slowly, and looked at Lucius.