Кассандра Клэр - Draco Dormiens

Draco looked at her. His green eyes were unreadable. "Sometimes."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask more, but at that moment the train came chugging into the station. It was painted bright red and had HOGSMEADE-LONDON picked out in sparkling letters across the side. She and Draco hopped to their feet and boarded. They were the only passengers in their compartment.

"Hermione," said Draco as they settled into their seats, "How did you know I wasn't Harry?"

Hermione bit her lip. Why was he asking her this now? She didn't have a good answer; it would sound silly to say that he hadn't smelled right when he kissed her, not like Harry. She studied his face, but couldn't read his expression.

Maybe that's it, she thought.

"I always know what Harry's thinking," she said. "He never bothers to hide anything he feels. But when I was looking at you, it was like I was looking at his face, but Harry had gone away. I couldn't tell at all what you were thinking."

Draco didn't say anything to that, only stared out the window. They were leaving the heavily wooded area around Hogsmeade now and rolling into an area of dark fields dotted with small farms. A huge white moon had risen.

"Do you want to know what I'm thinking now?" he asked finally.

"No," said Hermione, "I'm sure it's really unpleasant."

She immediately regretted having said this, but was unsure how to take it back.

They lapsed into silence.

Harry would never have imagined that a big gathering of Death Eaters could have been so fantastically boring, but so it was. They were a grim-looking bunch of men, even with their ugly masks off. Lucius Malfoy presided at the head of the table; Harry recognized some of the names: Crabbe and Goyle were there, just as big and ugly as their unpleasant offspring; there was Nott, Zabini, Rozier, and Franz Parkinson as well.

He had rather hoped there would be some talk about Sirius, but there was none. It seemed likely that McNair and Draco's father were the only ones who even knew about the plan. And Wormtail, of course. They probably didn't want to share the glory.

Harry sat squashed between Hugo Zabini (brother of the Zabini who had tried to send Harry an exploding broom) and Eleftheria Parpis (the only Death Eater who was not a man) an enormous-bosomed woman in black satin robes who was obviously quite taken with Lucius Malfoy: she laughed at everything he said and kept leaning across the table to give him a view of her expansive bosom. Narcissa, who was kept busy carrying trays of food in and out of the kitchen, didn't notice.

Zabini, on the other hand, was more interested in talking to Harry about all the fun he must be having as a Slytherin at Hogwarts. Harry, to whom the idea of fun now seemed a faint and distant memory, was kept quite busy inventing all sorts of activities for Draco and his Slytherin pals. "Well, we study a lot, of course," he said, "and we play with the torture instruments in the dungeon, and, uh, someone gave us a basilisk egg and we're trying to get it to hatch."

"Is that wise?" said Rozier, a tall old man with very thin eyebrows.

Harry, thrown by the fact that someone had actually paid attention to what he was saying, stammered, "Well, McNair said he'd kill it for us if it got too big."

"I, for one," said Eleftheria, "like to see children learning for themselves. That is why I sent my sons to Durmstrang where they have already mastered Level Five of the Dark Arts."

"Is it true they chain the Durmstrang students to glaciers for days if they do badly on their OWL's?" Harry asked with great curiosity.

"Not overnight," said Eleftheria, waving her fork airily.

Zabini turned to Harry, "Is Severus Snape still head of Slytherin House?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy suddenly turned and spit on the floor. "Draco," he said between his teeth, "is quite friendly with Severus. Despite the fact that Severus betrayed us all.

I have told him it is unseemly, but he does not listen."

Harry looked at his plate.

"Severus will get what is coming to him, Lucius," said Rozier in a voice that made Harry's blood run cold. "When we put the Plan into action."

Harry never thought he'd feel bad while considering the prospect of something awful happening to Snape, but he did.

"Father," he said, before he could stop himself, "I'm not feeling well. Can I be excused to my room?"

This was the wrong thing to say. Lucius turned a cold, glittering gaze on Harry, full of icy rage. When he spoke, however, his voice was even: "Certainly, Draco," he said.

Harry pushed his chair back and began to make his way from the hall. As he passed Lucius, however, Draco's father shot out a hand and grabbed his arm. His grip was cold. "You will come and see me in the drawing-room after dinner, Draco," he said quietly. "You will not be late."

"Yes," said Harry, mechanically, and, freeing his arm, he sped out of the hall.

Once away, he collapsed against a wall in the corridor, holding his head. Lucius Malfoy's voice saying the words drawing-room had sparked his memory, and he suddenly recalled the day four years ago when he heard Draco Malfoy telling Crabbe and Goyle that his family kept their most powerful Dark Arts objects under the drawing-room floor. At the time, Harry had thought he meant there was some kind of secret compartment under the floor. Now it occurred to him that in fact, what Draco might have meant — and he could not be sure why he felt this, but he did — was that the entrance to the chambers underneath Malfoy Manor was in the drawing-room. Perhaps the dungeon entrance might be there as well.

It was a slim chance, he knew, but worth investigating.

"Anton," he called softly. "Anton."

The ghost materialized before him, carrying a tea-towel and looking inquiring.

"Anton," said Harry in a whisper. "How do I get to the drawing-room? I've forgotten."

As Harry had expected, the ghost showed no surprise. "Follow me, Master Malfoy," he said, and began wafting down the corridor. He led Harry to a large room filled with overstuffed velvet chairs. The portrait of a tall woman wearing an enormous choker of rubies hung over the fireplace and a wide Persian rug covered the floor.

"Thank you, Anton," said Harry absently, and the ghost vanished.

Harry dropped to the floor and dragged the Persian carpet aside. Underneath it was the clear outline of a trap door with a looped iron handle. Harry grabbed the handle hard, and pulled.

The door lifted easily. Harry had a brief glimpse of a set of gray stone steps disappearing into darkness before his head was nearly split open by the most ear-piercing scream he had ever heard.

"MASTER LUCIUS! MASTER LUCIUS!" It was the woman in the portrait, her mouth open as she howled." THE TRAP DOOR IS OPEN! MASTER LUCIUS! THE DRAWING-ROOM!" Harry let the trap door fall as he staggered back, hands over his ears, but even with the door closed the woman continued to scream. "MASTER LUCIUS, COME QUICKLY!"

On the train, Draco opened his eyes with a start. "Oh, no," he said. "Harry, you stupid prat, what have you done?"

On the train, Draco opened his eyes with a start. "Oh, no," he said. "Harry, you stupid prat, what have you done?"

Over the portrait's screams Harry could hear the sound of running feet in the corridor outside. He looked around wildly. There was only the one exit from the room and it led straight into the hallway. If only he knew how to Disapparate!

The fireplace, said a voice in his ear. Harry spun around madly; there was no one there. He didn't care, though. Dashing towards the fireplace he flung himself into it just as the drawing-room doors opened. There was a ledge at about chest height inside the flue; he climbed up onto it and braced himself there, panting.