somewhat reassured although a small knot of nervousness did form in his stomach when he thought about the wedding. It was likely to be somewhat socially awkward, and on top of that…
The sound of wheels on snow interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down to see a carriage pull up at the base of the enormous stone staircase that fronted the Manor. It was one of the hired carriages from the village that had brought them to the Cold Christmas Inn the night before, and would be bringing all the guests from Malfoy Park to the house today. The carriages were black, with the Malfoy Park emblem on them — a wand crossed with a dagger on a silver field. Draco had already watched several guests arrive, including the Parkinsons and the Zabinis. Blaise had not been with her parents; Draco suspected she didn't think they should see each other, which, it seemed to him, was probably the one opinion they had ever held in common.
The carriage pulled to a halt and the doors opened. The occupants began to pile out. A witch and a wizard in dark blue cloaks with the hoods pulled up exited first, then a tall wizard whose hood was down, his red hair bright and unmistakable in the bright winter sunshine. Charlie Weasley. He turned and held out a hand to help his sister down next: Draco couldn't see her clearly, just her familiar yellow cloak and the scarlet curls like a river of bright fire down her back.
And after her, moving slowly and reluctantly, came Ron.
Draco looked down at him for a moment, then pulled back from the window and stood for a moment, lost in thought. He'd wondered if Weasley would actually show up; had suspected he would, but had not been entirely sure. Now that he was here, Draco found his tiredness falling away and a faint anticipatory nervousness taking its place.
Make them sorry, Harry had said.
Draco smiled. Then he went to the wardrobe and began to get dressed.
It was so dark when Harry finally opened his eyes the next day that he thought it was still the middle of the night. It was a moment before he realized that the curtains had been drawn firmly closed around his bed.
He blinked. How odd, he thought. I never do that. One of the house elves must have come in and closed them.
He sat up slowly, wincing, and fumbled for his glasses. He slid them on, his head pounding. He felt decidedly peculiar. And he was fairly sure that he'd had a most unusual dream…
'Hey there, tiger,' said a voice at his elbow.
Harry whipped around so quickly that later he'd be surprised that he hadn't dislocated anything. He knew, somehow, what he'd see before he even turned — and yet it hardly lessened the shock: black hair tumbling down over white shoulders, big gray eyes full of mischief, and a sheet wrapped around an obviously naked body.
Rhysenn.
Harry tried to say something, but all that came out was a whistling noise like a teakettle on the boil.
Her smile widened. 'Speechless, are you?' she said. 'I'm not surprised, after last night. I'd be shocked if you were in any shape to talk at all.'
That freed his voice. 'What — what — what — ' he stammered. 'What are you doing here? How did you get into my bedroom? Where are your clothes?'
She waved a breezy hand. 'Probably where you threw them, kitten.'
Harry goggled speechlessly. Surely this was a horrible nightmare. Surely he would wake up soon. 'But,' he began. 'But I was dreaming.'
'Tsk tsk.' She pursed her lips. 'Really, now. Do I look like a dream to you?
Do these?' And she held out her thin white arms. There were bruises all up and down them: the marks of fingers. 'I had no idea you'd be so forceful. I mean, I knew you were something special. The Boy Who Lived — '
'Shut up!' Harry hissed, and covered his face with his hands. 'Just shut up — I wouldn't. I couldn't have.'
'Oh, but you would and you could.' Her voice hardened, although she still sounded amused. 'How upsetting that you don't remember. Last night was certainly one of the most unique nights of my life. Things happened to me last night that — well, that have never happened to me before.'
Harry made a gurgling sound, low in his throat. 'I don't believe this,' he whispered. 'I don't believe it. I have a girlfriend.'
Rhysenn looked interested. 'I thought you broke up?'
'I — no — but — where do you get off knowing so much about my personal life?'
She shrugged, and the sheet slipped down. Harry averted his eyes. 'I get the paper,' she said. 'Everyone knows you're broken up. Except you, apparently.'
'We're just — we're taking a break.'
'Well, darling, in that case, next time you can bring her.'
'Next time? There isn't going to be a next time! There wasn't a this time!'
The left corner of her mouth twitched. 'Can you say that for sure?'
Harry was silent.
Rhysenn leaned forward. 'You said her name last night,' she said softly, and reached out her hand to touch his face; Harry jerked away. 'You said Hermione. But you only said it once.'
Harry shrank away from her even farther, or tried to. But he found he couldn't move. Something about her, despite his horror and feeling of nausea, still compelled him; her gaze mesmerized him like a cobra's gaze.
It wasn't that she was beautiful; she was, but in a strange, removed, adult way that unsettled him more than anything else. And her eyes, those Malfoy eyes, gray as winter seas, they frightened him. And yet he still found he could not pull away from her as she reached her hand out, brushed the backs of her long fingers against his cheek, and he felt it like the pain of biting down on a broken tooth, all his nerve-ending screaming at once -
He would probably have tumbled off the bed had there not been a knock on the bedroom door at precisely that moment. Harry snapped out of his befuddled state instantly, and stared in horror.
Rhysenn sighed and looked vexed. 'Are you going to get the door, or should I?'
'Mister Potter,' said a voice at the door, quite loud and sepulchral. One of the Manor's ghost servants, most likely. 'Mister Black has sent me to wake you up. It is noon, sir.'
'Go away!' Harry shouted desperately in response. 'I'm — I'm not here!'
Rhysenn snorted. 'Oh, well done.'
The knock sounded again, more powerfully this time. 'Mister Potter, I am afraid Mister Black impressed upon me the need to awaken you without delay.'
'Aaaaaaargh.' With a half-wail of despair, Harry got to his feet, wrapping a sheet around himself, and staggered to the door. He opened it a bare crack to see Anton, the ghost butler, hovering just in front of him, looking severe. 'Mister Potter,' he said. 'Mister Black also instructed me to bring you your clothes for the par-'
'Oh, yes, thank you, I'll take those,' Harry stammered, seized the pile of clothes from the ghost, and hurled them to the floor behind him. 'Thank you, Anton, now if there's nothing else — '
'Oh, but there is,' the butler said.
Harry hesitated miserably. 'What?'
'Mister Malfoy also required me to pass along a message for him. I believe it was, 'Get downstairs now, you big oversleeping git.''
'That's great,' Harry said, and began to push the door closed again.
'Mister Potter! A moment, please. There is one more thing,' said the butler, and held out a half-transparent hand. Shimmering in the middle of the ghost's palm was a familiar circle of scarlet glass, shot through with gold and black. Harry stared at his runic band, his mind racing. It was impossible — he wore it always — he'd been wearing it last night on his belt
— he remembered unbuckling the belt and — and leaving his clothes out for the house-elves to take away. 'The laundry elves asked me to return this to you, sir.'
'Thank you,' Harry replied mechanically. 'Thank you, Anton,' and he reached to take the runic band from the ghost. Then he shut the door, and turned slowly to face the girl sitting in his bed.
