Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"I was just looking at some old photos…would you like to see?"

Ginny tossed her hair back from her face and smiled. "Are there pictures of Draco when he was a baby?"

"Multitudes," said Narcissa.

"Oh, yeah," said Ginny fervently, and hopped over to sit next to Narcissa on the couch.

Narcissa flipped through the earlier photos, which showed her graduation from Hogwarts — "Is that Sirius?" asked Ginny, peering at the figures in the background.

"Yes, indeed," said Narcissa. "When he was sixteen."

"Not bad," said Ginny, in the tone of an expert on the subject.

There were no photos of Lucius or of their wedding, but, as Narcissa had promised, there were plenty of pictures of Draco. He had been, as Ginny rather suspected he might, a very cute baby. She had seen pictures of Harry when he was a baby. He had been exceedingly fat and angry-looking. Which was also adorable in its way, but Draco had been really a picture-perfect baby boy, with huge gray-blue eyes and silvery hair that stood up in wild cowlicks all around his head.

"Awww," said Ginny, melting into a puddle.

"Should I even ask," said a voice from the doorway, "what you two are doing?"

It was Draco, the adult version, looking at them with raised eyebrows. He was soaking wet, and there was mud on his boots and on the back of his jacket, as if he'd lain down in the mud. Wet, his silver hair was nearly white, a colorless sort of no-color. His eyes narrowed as he glanced from his mother, to Ginny, and back again.

"Hello, dear," said Narcissa, looking slightly guilty. "We were just looking at your baby pictures."

"Baby pictures," said Draco, flatly, and shook his head. "Well. If this isn't the cherry of cruelty on top of the sundae of despair that has been my day so far, I don't know what it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find some dry clothes."

"Oh, dear," said Narcissa under her breath, as he turned around and walked away. Then she glanced sideways at Ginny. "Oh, go ahead," she said, gently. "Go after him." She smiled. "Better you than me."

Ginny didn't need to be told twice. She got quickly to her feet and raced out of the room, catching up with Draco near the stairs.

"Malfoy," she called. "Wait a minute."

He paused on the bottom stair, turned around, and looked at her.

"What?" he said, rather unpleasantly. "You want me to lie down, so you can kick me in the ribs again?"

Ginny shook her head. "You're a little behind the times," she said, gently, and stepped onto the stair with him. It was surprising that he was so very wet, Ginny thought — it wasn't raining that hard outside.

He must have been standing out there for a good long time. She opened her mouth to say something about not having enough sense to come in out of the rain, then shut it again hastily at the look on Draco's face. "Hang on a minute," she said, untying the cardigan she was wearing around her waist. She reached up, and in a rough, sisterly fashion, began drying his face and hair with it. He looked at her askance briefly, but suffered her ministrations with fairly good grace. "Where have you been, anyway?" she asked.

"Around," he said.

"You don't look very happy," she said.

"I'm not," he said. "I'm wet, I'm cold, I've got mud down the back of my shirt, and I'm fairly positive that someone very nasty wants me dead."

Ginny's eyes widened. "What are you going to do?" she said.

"Die, probably," he said, looking thoughtful. "After that, I hadn't thought about it. Probably try a spot of moldering away in the earth.

That seems to be the done thing."

"That's not funny!"

"I rather thought it was."

"Wl1, it wasn't. Contrary to what you might think, I don't want you dead."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Hermione told us," she said. "About the love potion."

"Why?"

She was startled by his vehemence. "Harry overheard us talking," she said. "I suppose she didn't really have a choice."

"Harry," he said, pressing the palm of his hand against his forehead as if he had a headache. "And everyone else? Sirius?" he added, sounding a little wistful.

"Well, all of us. But we know it isn't your fault-"

"What does your brother say?"

Ginny's face fell.

"Thought so," said Draco. "And Harry?"

Ginny bit her lip. "He's not-"

"Not in the mood for quality time with yours truly?" Draco tried to smile, but it didn't quite come off. "Unless said quality time involves him smashing my kneecaps in with a toffee hammer, that is."

"He's actually not — " she began, and broke off, shaking her head.

"Talk to him yourself," she said. "I think they're in the library."

"All right," said Draco, not moving. "I will."

"I'm sorry I kicked you," she said, quickly. "I didn't know about the potion, and I thought-"

He blinked in surprise. She could feel, with her hands on his shoulders, that he was shivering very slightly with cold. "You're sorry?" he said. "Or you're sorry for me?"

When Ginny didn't respond, he ducked his head to look at her. She began to pull back, feeling awkward, but he caught her left hand -

the one that wasn't holding the cardigan — and lifted it, brushing his mouth across the back of her fingers so quickly and lightly that if she had blinked, she would have missed it.

"Thanks," he said, dropping her hand and turning to go.

"For what?" She stared after him, bewildered, as he darted up the stairs. "For what?"

But he was already out of earshot.

"Draco wouldn't do that," said Hermione, with finality.

Ron wheeled on her. "Are you kidding?" he demanded sharply. "This is Malfoy we're talking about here. It's been the dream of his whole life to do something like that. He's probably sitting somewhere, laughing at all of us, the skulking slimeball."

Sirius interrupted. "I agree with Hermione," he said. "He wouldn't do that. He's far too proud. Induced love just isn't something that would appeal to him."

"Not normally, perhaps," said Lupin, looking grave. "But as I told him, that sword is a living thing, it has its own malign intelligence.

Prolonged contact with it could warp the bearer's mind and personality, make them do things they wouldn't ordinarily do. Make them a danger…to themselves and other people around them."

Hermione shook her head. "This isn't some low-level meanness we're talking about," she said, quietly. " He wouldn't put our lives in danger, I really believe that."

"Sorry, Herm," said Ron, not ungently. "But since you're in love with the guy, you're not the most objective character witness. It's not your fault, but there it is."

Hermione wavered and fell silent, looking furious.

"In fact," added Ron, eyes dark, "what if he made some kind of — of trade with Slytherin? He joined up with him, offered him something, and in return he got Hermione. She wouldn't even know. It makes sense he'd offer Malfoy something like that — Malfoy wouldn't be interested in money, or magical power, but this is something he couldn't get on his own. Slytherin's probably got his own little army of demons, so he sent one out to pay a house call on Malfoy but it ran into me and Harry instead…"

Hermione looked desperately over from Lupin and Sirius' grave faces to Harry, who was looking shell-shocked. "Harry," she said, and at the sound of her voice saying his name, he jumped slightly, and turned to her. "You don't believe this, do you?"

"I don't know," said Harry slowly. "I don't know what to believe — "

"Maybe you should ask me," said a low, cool voice from the doorway. "Or don't you want to know what the skulking slimeball has to say for himself?"

It was Draco.

He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb in a relaxed manner — but Hermione could tell, from the coiled tension in his shoulders, that he was far from relaxed.