Кассандра Клэр: Draco Dormiens

"Boomslang," said Ron, and when the portrait swung forward, Draco followed him into the common room. Fred and George Weasley, sitting by the fire, greeted them with shouts of welcome. Draco looked around the room in irritation — the common room here was much nicer than the Slytherin one, which, being in the dungeon, was cold and had a tendency to drip during the winter. He would definitely be complaining to his father about this when he got his body back.

He trailed Ron and Hermione slowly over to the fire — he detested Fred and George, not just because they always hit the Bludgers right at him during Quidditch matches, but also because they´d become really obnoxious ever since they´d opened up their own mail-order joke shop, the stock for which was now trading at over a hundred Galleons a share on the MSE (Magical Stock Exchange.) They'd even taken a year off school to run the thing. Draco had not missed them.

"HARRY!" George yelled, thwacking Draco hard on the back. "Heard you had a go at Malfoy in Potions, good work."

"Heś been asking for a nice hard thumping for years," agreed Fred.

"Pity you didn´t kill him is all," said George.

Draco felt his face working, and, knowing it´d be a dead giveaway he pulled out his wand and cursed Fred and George with boils, he took a few deep, calming breaths instead. Then he felt a small hand wrap around his arm and he saw Hermione next to him, looking up at him with concern.

"Are you all right, Harry? You sound like you can´t breathe," she said.

"Head…hurts," said Draco with difficulty, and sat down hard in a chair.

"Not your scar?" said Ron, looking green. "Your scar doesn´t hurt?"

"No, idiot," said Draco, through his teeth, "just my head where that fool Harry -

where Draco banged it against the floor."

"So why did Draco attack you like that, Harry?" asked Hermione, brown eyes wide.

"Because heś a rotten little snake, why else?" said Ron.

Draco bristled. "I insulted his mother," he said shortly. "So he punched me."

"Harry!" said Hermione.

"Good on you," said Ron, 'for punching him back."

"There's no point insulting Malfoy," Hermione went on. "I think you should try to feel sorry for him, Harry — " "Sorry for him!" Draco yelped. "Why? Heś rich, his familyś powerful, heś good-looking and the ladies love him-" "Heś got that terrible father," said Hermione severely. "And heś obviously very jealous of you, Harry, you´re such a good Quidditch player, and so brave, and he isn´t, remember that time in the Forbidden Forest when he ran away from Quirrell?"

Draco made a strangled noise.

"And he isn´t any better-looking than you, Harry," said Hermione, avoiding his eyes.

"But heś-" Draco stammered, "Heś — blond!"

Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"I´m tired," said Draco in a strangled voice. "I'm going to bed."

As he went up the dormitory stairs, followed by Ron, Dracoś mind raced. He had always assumed that Potter and his friends hated him as much as he hated them.

Well, it looked like Weasley probably did, but Hermione…advocating that they feel sorry for him? A Mudblood feel sorry for Draco Malfoy? He clenched his hands in rage and slammed the dormitory door behind him.

"Aack!" yelled Ron in pain, have been hit in the nose by the slamming door.

"Oh," said Draco, "Sorry."

Hermione sat for a long time in front of her mirror that night, one elbow on her tattered copy of "Affirmations for Witches Who Do Too Much" and the other on an equally tattered copy of "Witches Who Love Wizards and the Wizards Who Don't Notice." She sighed; it wasn't exactly true anymore that Harry didn't notice she loved him, she'd told him so last month, when she couldn't stand it any more, and he'd been very nice about it, but very clear.

He didn't love her.

He'd told her how he felt about Cho, and she said she'd sort of known it anyway, and they'd both sort of laughed, and he'd told her how much her friendship meant to him, and that had been it. Hermione still got a sick feeling in her stomach when she thought about it.

But tonight, she thought — tonight had been different, it seemed to her that Harry had been looking at her in a new way, as if…as if he was seeing her for the first time. Of course, that might have been the head injury. She put her face in her hands. Please, she thought, please let it not have been the head injury.

In the hospital wing, Harry, still unconscious, was lost in a horrible dream in which he was lost in the Forbidden Forest….he was looking for something…Ron was with him, but where was Hermione? He yelled aloud without waking up, and Dumbledore, in whispered conference with Madam Pomfrey, broke off and looked over at him anxiously.

"There is a great deal of darkness in that Malfoy boy," he told Madam Pomfrey, who sniffed doubtfully. She had never liked Draco much. "I fear," said the Headmaster, "that it may someday overpower him."

Taking a shower the next morning was probably the strangest experience of Dracoś life. He kept his eyes screwed shut so he wouldn´t see Harry naked, but when he did look down by accident, his jaw dropped in amazement. "Well, would you look at that," he said, trying not to. "Congratulations, Potter."

It was strange going to all of Harry's classes, thought Draco. It was a relief when they got to Care of Magical Creatures class, which the Gryffindors had with the Slytherins anyway. They were currently studing grindleflerberts: nasty little amphibious creatures with big, tooth-lined jaws. When Hagrid went back to his house to get more flobberworms to feed them, Crabbe and Goyle took the opportunity to abduct Nevilleś toad and hold it over the cage of grindleflerberts, who slavered hungrily.

"Har har," sneered Goyle, who was gripping Trevor the toad while Crabbe held off Neville with one arm. "Do you want me to feed your toad to the monsters, likkle boy?"

"Please, no!" Neville begged. "Leave Trevor alone!"

Neville was practically in tears. Draco watched, sniggering, until he became aware of Hermioneś eyes on him. They were imploring. Oh, right, he recalled, I´m Harry Potter, Wonder Boy. Hermione obviously expected him to Do Something, so with a sigh, he went up to Goyle and said, "Goyle, give the boy back his toad."

Goyleś piggy eyes narrowed. "Make me," he said, tightening his grip on Trevor.

Draco was used to Goyle doing everything he said, so that rocked him for an instant. This might turn unpleasant, he realized. He´d seen Goyle wreck a city bus with his bare hands before, he didn´t want to be next.

"Goyle," he said, lowering his voice now so only the two of them could hear, "Did you know I could read minds?"

Goyle stared at him blankly.

"Itś true," said Draco. "Itś the magical power of my scar," he added, wondering if even Goyle was dim enough to believe this malarky.

"I don´t believe you," he said slowly, but there was a fear in his small eyes.

"For instance, I could tell everyone here that you sleep with your night light on, you wear pink frilly underwear because it makes you feel pretty, and you´re secretly in love with Crabbe — you´ve got a photo of him under your pillow."

Goyle let out a yell of horror, shoved the toad at Draco, and took off running. For such a big fellow, he moved pretty fast and was soon out of sight.

'Here you go, Longbottom," said Draco, thrusting Trevor at Neville, who looked at him gratefully. He caught sight of Hermione gazing at him; she looked full of admiration and blushed when he looked at her. No one had ever looked at Draco like that before; it made him feel odd, and rather tingly around the ears. Furious, he trod purposefully on Seamus Finneganś toe as he headed back towards Hermione, and was pleased to hear him howl with pain.