Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

Hermione got to her feet, although she didn't move towards Harry.

"That's not it," she said, her own voice sounding thin to her ears.

"Harry, just because Snape says there isn't any way of taking it off, doesn't mean it's true. He's only saying what he knows, and he doesn't know everything. I'm sure there's a way. There has to be."

"Not every problem has a solution, Hermione," he said, his quiet tone undercutting the anger in his voice. "I know that might be hard for you to believe."

"I don't see why I should believe it. I don't see any point in just giving up."

But Harry didn't seem to be listening. He was staring at a vague point above her head. "I miss you," he said, apropos of nothing. "I already miss you and it's only been a few hours. I keep thinking, how much am I going to miss you tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that? Because I don't think it's going to get any better. I think there are some things that just don't get any better and that this is one of them."

"Harry-" she began, starting towards him.

He held out a hand to ward her off. "Don't make it worse than it is."

"At least let me explain," she said, so quickly that the words nearly tumbled over themselves. "Let me explain and apologize and that's the last thing I'll ask you for, I swear."

"I don't want an apology. I want to know."

"Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you," she said, and meant it.

"Why did you bother pretending?" he nearly shouted. "When I saw you — outside the tower — that first time why did you pretend you were happy to see me? Why bother? What was the point? I can understand you not telling me the truth about the potion. But why the performance? I kissed you and that wasn't just me kissing you.

You kissed me back. I couldn't even tell — " He broke off, and looked away again. "I couldn't even tell any difference."

Hermione gazed at him in astonishment. Of course, she thought, he doesn't know -

"You think the potion means I don't love you any more?" she said.

He didn't answer, just continued to look away from her.

"Harry, that's the last thing it means. My feelings about you haven't changed at all, and if I didn't love you so much I wouldn't have lied to you — I know that sounds stupid but it's true. I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you-"

She broke off, knowing how she sounded — the right words seemed to be escaping her, as so many things had escaped her lately. She knew it was the effect of the potion- that it hadn't just given her feelings she didn't want, but was draining away from her the very qualities that would allow her to fight those feelings — will, clarity, strength of purpose. It was gradual, but it was happening; she could feel it.

"I'm not lying," she whispered, but Harry's expression didn't change, and she thought, despairingly: He'll never believe anything I tell him, not now, not after this, and why should he?

"Harry, come here," she said.

At last, he looked up, and when she saw the expression on his face, she nearly wished he hadn't.

"Come here," she said, again. "Please."

Moving reluctantly, he crossed the room and stood in front of her, looking defiant. His chin was set, his green eyes unreadable. She reached out and took hold of his right wrist and drew his hand towards her, placing it on her chest just over her heart. "I need you to believe me," she said. "Do what you have to."

For a moment, he looked uncomprehending. Then understanding flashed across his face and his eyes widened as he drew back, trying to withdraw his hand.

But Hermione hung on tightly. "Please," she said. "Or I'll do it myself."

He raised his eyes until they met hers, and she saw something crumble away behind his eyes, temporary resolve giving way to curiosity and the need to know the truth.

"Veritas," he said.

She felt a soft implosion inside her chest, and sucked in her breath.

It hurt, but not as badly as she had thought it would, remembering the agony in Draco's eyes when she had put the spell on him. But then, he had fought it, and she wasn't fighting it. She shut her eyes, pressing herself back against the desk, letting the pain run through her like silver wires.

"Ask me, Harry," she said.

She heard the hesitation in his voice. "Do you love me?"

She opened her eyes. "Yes."

She saw a little of the tension leave his shoulders, although the questions didn't leave his eyes.

"Ask me if I'm in love with you," she said.

"Are you in love with me?"

"Yes. Completely."

Harry glanced down quickly, hiding his expression. "Okay, then," he said, in a slightly constricted voice, and cleared his throat. "Are you in love with Malfoy?"

Hermione gripped the edge of the desk with her hands. "Yes."

He didn't wince or change expression, but then it wasn't anything he hadn't already known. "But it isn't the same?"

"No. It's different. It's not real. I can tell. It doesn't mean I don't feel it."

"Do you really think there's a counterspell?"

"Yes," she said, hearing her own voice with some astonishment. "Yes, I really do."

Harry moved a step closer to her, not taking his hand away from its resting place above her heart. She could herself reflected in the pupils of his eyes, saw the lingering shadows there. "Ask me something else," she said, desperate to find whatever it was that would reassure him completely. "Ask me whatever, I don't care."

Harry ducked his head. She could almost have sworn she saw him smile, briefly-

"Anything?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Do those new dress robes that Sirius got me make me look like a girl?"

"What?" This was the last question Hermione had expected him to ask, but then the spell didn't discriminate between significant and insignificant truths. "No. You look really cute in them," she said, and nearly smiled to hear the words coming out of her mouth. "See! I told you so."

"All right, then. Did you really like that present I got you for Christmas last?"

"No," said Hermione, and turned bright red. "I mean to say — " But it was useless. "You got me socks, Harry. Girls don't want socks! House-elves want socks! I know we weren't going out then, but really."

Harry made a muffled sort of noise. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"Now. Do you really find watching me play Quidditch interesting or do you only come to the games to make sure I don't get killed?"

"I only come to the games to make sure you don't get killed," said Hermione, and groaned. "I think Quidditch is the most boring thing in the entire world, worse than watching paint dry. Harry, stop."

"You said I could ask you anything. So, are you in love with Ron?"

Hermione stared. "Harry! What? No!"

"Are you in love with Viktor Krum?"

"Not remotely. Where are you going with this?"

"Professor Snape?"

"Oh, this is getting disgusting. No."

"Professor Lupin?"

"You're deranged. No!"

"Sirius?"

Hermione looked solemn. "Well, he is awfully sexy."

Harry looked horrified. "Hermione!"

She suddenly giggled, unable to help it. "Don't ask if you don't want to know the answer!"

Harry grinned. A real grin, the like of which she hadn't seen on his face in she didn't know how long. At that moment, she would have told him anything, even if she hadn't been under the Veritas curse.

"So," he said. "Since we're on the topic of romance, I think you should tell me exactly why you find me so devastatingly attractive.

Take as long as you like and feel free to use big words."

"Oh, no, that's not fair," she protested, feeling her face burning.

"Come on, answer the question. Why do you love me?"

Hermione felt the words spilling out of her mouth uncontrollably. "I love you because-"

And then Harry's hand was over her mouth. She heard him say