Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"What does that one do?" asked Draco, gazing at a beaker full of a bubbling lime-green liquid.

"Gets rid of chest hair," said Snape.

"And that one?"

"Makes you grow chest hair all over your body."

"Ugh."

"Some people want strange things."

"Do you sell this stuff?"

"Sometimes," replied Snape. "You think anyone could live on the salary they pay us at Hogwarts? Most of us do outside consulting work. Now sit down on that stool over there and shut up for a minute."

Draco obediently sat down on the stool, which was next to a long low desk piled with various bits and pieces of discarded junk. Rolls of twine, small jars of newts' eyes past their expiry date, snapped quills, a piece of broken mirror. It had been rather a long time since he'd even looked at his own reflection, Draco thought, reaching down to pick up the bit of broken mirror. That in itself was cause for alarm concerning his mental state.

He held the bit of broken glass up and looked at his own reflected image in a state bordering on dismay. I look horrible. His summer tan seemed to have disappeared, and his skin looked as white and semi-translucent as paper. He must have lost weight, too, he could see the sharp blades of his collarbones sticking up above the loose collar of Charlie's too-large shirt. In his white face, his eyes, always pale silvery-gray, looked nearly black, the irises thinned to slender bands of silver around his enlarged pupils. No wonder the light in the kitchen had hurt his eyes. The shadows under his eyes were bruise-blue, and his hair-

Draco suddenly yelled and dropped the mirror.

Snape, who had been investigating the contents of a desk drawer, straightened up and hurried over to Draco, careful not to spill the contents of the flask he was holding. He looked alarmed, or at last as alarmed as he ever looked. "What is it? What's going on?"

"I've got a white hair!" said Draco, grabbing a handful of silvery strands and glaring upwards at them. "I'm only sixteen and I've got a white hair!"

Snape's look of alarm quickly changed to a look of disgusted amusement. "With the hair you've got, I don't see how you can tell."

"Of course I can tell. What's happening to me? Am I dying? You have to help me. Give me something — anything — "

"A packet of hair dye?" suggested Snape with a cold smile. "Your vanity is impressive, Mr. Malfoy, but I think your coiffure is the least of your problems. Here. Drink this," and he shoved the flask he had been holding into Draco's right hand.

Draco glanced down. The flask was full of a thick-looking black liquid that bubbled and steamed and smelled vaguely like wet asphalt. "Er," he said. "And what's this when it's at home?"

The Potions master just looked at him. In the flickering light of the many fires in the workroom, Snape's face looked like a mask of itself, outlined in red shadows. It was odd, Draco thought, looking at him: Snape was the same age as Sirius, yet Sirius' face bore plainly the marks of the boy he had once been; Snape looked like someone who had never had a childhood. "Drink it," Snape said again. "It will help you."

Draco bit his lip. "Would you drink it," he said, glancing sideways at Snape, "if you were me?"

"I have drunk it. It's a preparation I made especially for my own personal use, many years ago."

Draco lowered the flask and stared. "Why?"

Snape sighed and leaned back against the wall, hunching his angular shoulders inside his black robes, his expression unreadable. Then he reached down and slowly pulled up his left sleeve. He held his arm out to Draco, palm up, so that Draco could clearly see the Dark Mark branded into his skin.

Draco stared, then raised his eyes to Snape. "Yes," he said slowly. "I know. My father has one. Had one," he corrected himself, hastily.

"This is not the only souvenir I ever carried of my association with the Dark Lord," said Snape, looking down at his own arm. "When we were his, we were tied to him, body, blood and brain. That's part of the reason nobody ever left his service. If he did not find you and kill you himself, madness was the usual and inevitable other result."

"But you left."

"I left. And I very nearly went mad. I took refuge with Dumbledore, and he protected me from bodily injury at the Dark Lord's hands.

But he could not save my mind. Everywhere I went, every day, ever hour, I heard the Dark Lord's voice in my head, promising that if I returned to his service, all would be forgiven. Dumbledore had made me part of his plans. The Dark Lord promised me that if I gave him news of those plans, he would give me clemency. His voice spoke in my ear every day, and all night in my dreams."

Draco stared at him, his mouth half-open. "Did you want to go back to him? Did you believe him?"

"Oh, yes, I wanted to. But no, I didn't believe his promised forgiveness. For that is the essence of cruelty like his; betray him, and no mercy will be shown to you."

"So what did you do?"

"I made that," said Snape shortly, pointing at the flask Draco held. "I had no idea at first if it would help me or if it would kill me. But I worked hard on it, and it was successful. It blocked the voices in my head and gave me my own will back. I can only hope it will do the same for you."

Draco looked back down at the potion, which was still swirling and bubbling.

"I added a Wakefulness Potion to the mixture," he heard Snape say, sounding very far away. "It will keep you from sleeping, and dreaming. At least for a few days."

Draco nodded. "Cheers," he muttered, and lifted the flask to his mouth. He tilted his head back and swallowed hard; despite its smell of asphalt, the potion really had very little taste. He felt it snake its way down the back of his throat, and hit his nearly-empty stomach, where it sizzled. A wave of heat struck him, nearly making him drop the flask, and then an alert and burning energy which swept over him like fever. It hurt, a little, but was also curiously warming, and he had been so cold the past few days…

"Oh," he said quietly, and leaned forward slowly until his head was resting on his folded arms on the desk. He felt Snape reach forward and pluck the flask out of his limp fingers. He suddenly missed Sirius, who would have put a hand on his shoulder, or stroked his hair, or something. He heard Snape's voice as if from very far away:

"Are you all right, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yeah." He sat up, rubbed at his eyes. "I'm fine."

"It might burn your throat a little, but it won't hurt you. It should take an hour or so for its full effect to be felt. Would you like to go lie down?"

"I'm not tired."

"No. You wouldn't be. The Wakefulness potion works immediately."

Draco didn't say anything, just sat with the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. He could feel the potion spreading its heat outward from his stomach, winding through his veins, making his heart pound wildly. He took a deep shuddering breath and heard Snape say: "Yes, I know it hurts. Breathe through it, the pain won't last."

"I am breathing," snapped Draco irritably. "Like I'm going to stop breathing."

"Well, you never know what the side effects will be," said Snape, and Draco cut his eyes sideways, wonder if the Potions teacher was making a joke. He couldn't tell. "Look," Snape added stiffly. "You'll be all right. You've obviously got a very strong will of your own, or you wouldn't have made it this far. You were meant to give in. And you haven't given in, despite injuries and exhaustion. You should be proud."

"Injuries?" murmured Draco, taking his hands away from his eyes. "I haven't got any injuries, I haven't even got a scratch on me."

Snape leaned forward and pressed his fingers to Draco's temples. To