Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

She was still staring at him with the same huge eyes and he was suddenly reminded of the way she had looked at him after he'd faced that Hungarian Horntail his fourth year, remembered how she had gripped her face so tightly in fear for him that she had left deep fingernail marks on her skin. It had startled him at the time that anyone could care that much what happened to him; it startled him still. "Hermione-don't," he protested, a bit incoherently, and reached out for her.

She was up and off the floor and in his lap in less than a second, her arms wrapped around his neck. He buried his face against her, where her neck curved down into her shoulder. Her hair smelled like it always did, a smell that reminded him of Moroccan mint tea.

He felt her chest hitch, and then she was crying against him, dryly and with a soundless sort of despair that alarmed him. What on earth…?

"Oh, Harry, I just can't believe it, and I'm sure you did everything you possibly could have. It's not your fault."

Harry pulled back and looked at her, confused. "What's not my fault?"

"Draco. He's dead, isn't he?"

Harry looked at her, profoundly startled. "How did you — "

"The love spell's off me," she said, simply. "I felt it go." The tears had started sliding down her face, and Harry thought she looked somehow as if she was trying to be calm for his sake, which was very Hermione in a way. "What happened?" she burst out finally, her voice breaking. "How did he-no, never mind, don't tell me, I don't want to know." She scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes.

"Harry, I feel so guilty, this past few days all I've been wishing is for this stupid spell to be off me, and now it is, but I never wanted-"

"Hermione," said Harry kindly. "Shut up for a minute, okay? I have to tell you something, and you're not going to believe it…"

"Ron? Ron saved his life? You're kidding. I can't believe it. I bet Ron can't either. He must be going spare. Where's the Floo Powder? We have to get to the Burrow. Oh, I wish I could Apparate. Where's the bloody Floo Powder?"

"Hermione, do stop rushing about. Five minutes ago you were crying hysterically and now you seem to be doing an impression of McGonagall on speed. I'm getting a headache. Anyway, I think the Floo Powder is downstairs in the kitchen."

"Go get it, then."

"Don't be daft. Accio Floo Powder!"

"Harry, you're not supposed to do wandless magic — oooh, it worked.

Nice Summoning Charm."

"My specialty, thanks to you."

"All your specialties are thanks to me, nitwit."

"What a smug girlfriend I've got."

"Don't try to be clever, just give me the Floo Powder."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"Come and get it."

"Come and get it? What are we, twelve?"

"You're afraid of my superior strength."

"I am not afraid of your superior strength. You are afraid of my superior intellect. Do not make faces at me, Harry Potter. All right, that does it."

"Does what? Ow! Ow! Where'd you learn how to tackle like that?

You're like an American linebacker, only, of course, much prettier and somewhat less burly."

"Flattery will not help you. I am going to sit on you until you give me the Floo Powder. What did you do with it, anyway?"

"I hid it somewhere on my body. Want to look for it?"

"Are you daring me?"

"I might be…"

"Enervate."

Draco came back to consciousness instantly, his eyes flying open, fixing on Sirius' face. "Where am I?"

"In Percy Weasley's bedroom. Sorry to wake you up; I want you to drink this. It's a Warming Potion. Do you need me to help you sit up?"

Draco hesitated, then nodded. Sirius reached out and helped him into a sitting position, wincing a little at the coldness of Draco's skin. He'd dried the boy's clothes with a Dessicarus Charm and covered him with every spare blanket he could find, but it didn't seem to have raised his icy body temperature much.

Draco took the mug from Sirius with the sleepy-eyed and unquestioning acceptance of the completely exhausted. He drank it down, holding the mug carefully in both hands, and handed it back to Sirius, who put the mug on the bedside table while Draco leaned back against the pillows, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples. Sirius was reminded suddenly of being in the infirmary with Harry after the last task of the Triwizard Tournament; how drained Harry had looked, how pushed beyond the very borders of strength to a place Sirius couldn't follow after him, much as he thought he should, much as he would have wanted to. He had a sudden urge to reach over and pat Draco on the shoulder, or ruffle his hair, but didn't.

"Where's everyone else?" Draco asked, his eyelids drooping with tiredness.

"They're all downstairs. But you won't be seeing any of them until tomorrow. I'll go fetch your mother in a little while. I can't owl her while she's at the inquest but I think she won't mind if I show up in person. Not if it's about you."

Draco pushed a little fretfully at the enormous heap of blankets covering him. "But I want to see-"

"No," said Sirius firmly.

Draco looked up at him with huge eyes. Wrapped in blankets, so pale still that each of his eyelashes stood out as if it had been individually inked, he looked about eleven. "I was dead, Sirius," he said. "I saw the Founders — all except Slytherin — I talked to them, and — "

Sirius took him firmly by the shoulders. "Draco," he said. "You need to go to sleep. Your body needs the rest. Tell me all about whatever you…saw…tomorrow. All right?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You don't believe me."

Sirius sighed, and let him go. "Honestly? No, of course I don't. You were very nearly dead, Draco. Your body was breaking down. Who knows what your mind thought it saw? But if it'll make you happy, you can tell me all about it — tomorrow."

Draco's eyes had fallen shut. "I thought everyone was curious about what happens after you die," he said, his words slurred with tiredness. "Aren't they?"

"Yes, but unlike you, we do not all go on reconaissance missions to find out. And that's all I'm going to say about it. Go to sleep, Draco."

Sirius got up. He was halfway across the room when Draco spoke again:

"I saw Harry's parents, too, " he said.

The mug flew out of Sirius' hand and fell to the ground, denting the floorboards. He spun around. "You mean Lily and James?"

"Yeah."

Sirius was aware that his heart was pounding unevenly in his chest.

"What do you mean, you saw them?"

"What I said," replied Draco, in a vague sort of half-sleepy voice. "I was in a place full of ghosts. There were thousands of them. And Harry's parents were there; James thought I was my father at first, and came over to me…"

"You do look like Lucius," whispered Sirius, and then: "What did he say?" He heard the hopeful anguish in his own voice, winced at it.

"Never mind," he said harshly. "You were half-dead, Draco, you were hallucinating."

"Why would I hallucinate Harry's parents?" Draco asked reasonably.

Sirius pressed the tips of his fingers to his eyes. "I don't know, Draco. Why does anyone have the dreams they do?"

"It was them. Harry's father looked just like him, and his mother-"

"Draco, I know you've seen pictures of them before, that doesn't mean anything. For God's sake, don't make yourself crazy with this."

"Harry's father said there was something in your vault at Gringott's for Harry, something he gave you just before he died-"

"James didn't give me anything just before he died," said Sirius flatly. "Go to sleep, Draco."

He heard a defeated sigh from the boy in the bed, and then a muffled, "Good night, Sirius."

"Good night. And Draco?"

"What?"