'Don?t be sorry. Just do it. And then go to the kitchen and get me a glass of brandy. The decanter here is deplorably empty.' Luciusexpression was deeply sour. 'And if you see either my wife or my son, do pass on the message that if either of them interrupts me in my study, they?ll be spending the night in the dungeons.'
'Yes, Master, Noddy will do so, Master, and it is very good to have Master home again — '
'Oh shut up, you repellent little earwig,' snarled Lucius in a paroxysm of rage, turned away and stalked across the room towards the far door that Ginny knew led to the smaller study. As he passed the fireplace, Lucius paused, then hurled the tattered little diary into the empty hearth.
Ginnys heart contracted.
The study door slammed behind Lucius, and Ginny heard the sound of the bolt sliding home in the lock. The tension running through her muscles was becoming unbearable. Don?t do it, she thought at the house-elf, hurry off to the kitchens and forget all about it -
But the elf did not hurry off. Instead, it raised a finger and pointed it at the hearth; instantly a lively fire leaped up in the grate, obscuring the diary from view.
'Oh, no,' she murmured under her breath. 'Oh, no, no no — '
She clapped a hand over her mouth, but fortunately the elf appeared not to have heard her. Gathering up its duster, it hurried from the room.
As soon as the door shut behind it, Ginny threw the curtain aside and pointed her trembling wand at the fireplace: 'Accio!' she whispered, and the burning book lifted out of the flames and flew across the room towards her like a miniature shooting star. She tried to catch it but it was too hot to touch; she dropped it and it fell at her feet. Seizing up a book from a small case nearby, she knelt and beat out the tiny flames. When they were all out, she gathered up the diary in a trembling hand. It was warm to the touch, as it had often been before, although she knew that now it was merely because of the fire. The cover was singed, as were the edges of several pages, but it was otherwise intact.
'Oh, thank goodness,' she whispered. She brushed a finger over the torn cover: now that the fires heat was fading, she could feel how dead it was under her fingers, no longer the live thing it had once been. She turned it over and read the words on the back: Vorpals Variety Store, 15 Vauxhall Road, London.
'Excuse me,' came a cold little voice from the doorway, 'but who are you, and what are you doing in my house?'
Ginny bolted to her feet, hastily concealing the small diary inside the larger book she was holding, and stared. A little boy with a mop of silver-fair hair and an arrogant expression stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Although she knew perfectly well who he was — he was instantly recognizable — it took a moment for her mind accept what she was looking at:
Draco Malfoy, aged twelve.
'I?m bored,' Harry said, conversationally.
'Mmm. Yes, I am too, rather. Isn?t it odd how quickly stark terror turns to stark boredom? And hard to say which is preferable.'
They sat atop the tower wall, side by side, two pairs of booted feet dangling over the edge. Harry looked sideways at Draco: his breath was puffing out in small white clouds. Lucius had Charmed both their cloaks before locking them out on the tower, and indeed the charms seemed to be protecting Harry from the chill weather — his hands were cold, but his gloves helped that, and the icy air nipped at his ears and cheekbones, but it wasn?t too bad. Draco looked colder than he was, or perhaps it was just that his skin was so fair: his cheeks were scarlet, the lids of his eyes pale blue with cold.
'We could spit down on passersby,' Draco suggested. 'Although I don?t think there are very many passers- by at the moment.'
Harry nodded. 'We could make shadow puppets.'
'We could use our cloaks to make very small trampolines.'
'We could talk about our feelings.'
'Theres a thought.' Draco looked intrigued. 'Want to tell me whats really been bothering you for the past couple of weeks?'
Harry thought about this. 'No,' he said.
'Well, that was a productive discussion,' said Draco, with a broad and expansive wave of his arm. 'I?m glad we talked. Harry — if I may call you Harry — '
'Well, what else would you call me?' said Harry, miffed at being wound up.
Draco paused mid-snark. 'Don?t I usually call you Potter?'
'I guess,' Harry said neutrally. 'But isn?t that a little weird? I mean, you know, after everything, and…'
Draco blinked. 'Isn?t this one of those aspects of our relationship that we don?t address?'
'I didn?t know we had an official policy on that.'
'The official policy is that we don?t have a policy.' Draco looked upset.
'You?re messing up the vibe, Potter.'
Harry subsided with a smirk. 'Sorry.'
There was a moment of silence. Then Draco reached into the pocket of his robe and extracted a garishly decorated paperback book. Harry immediately recognized it as the novel which accompanied Ginny to breakfast, Quidditch practice, and homework. 'Well,' said Draco, a bit hesitantly, 'I could read out loud.'
'Malfoy,' said Harry curiously. 'Why do you have a copy of Passionate Trousers in your robe pocket?'
Draco cleared his throat. 'It was meant to be a Christmas present for Ginny.'
'Doesn?t she already have a copy of Passionate Trousers?'
'She probably has the whole set. Its a trilogy. Passionate Trousers, Trousers Aflame, and Trousers Revisited. I filched this one out of her book bag before we left school.'
'You were going to give her back a book you stole from her? What were you going to get me? A shirt I already own?'
Draco made a rude face. 'Its a private joke,' he said. 'And anyway, I was going to get her copy autographed. The author was meant to be at the reception today, but I guess he — '
'He? You mean — ' Harry squinted at the book cover. 'Aurora Twilight is a man?'
Draco chuckled. 'You don?t know…?'
'Know what?'
The other boy looked hugely amused. 'Well, I?m not going to tell you, then.'
'Making shadow puppets is starting to look better and better,' Harry muttered.
'Quit whinging, Potter.' Draco propped the book open on his lap. 'Its a fine evening, and we have mediocre literature to enjoy.'
Harry sighed, then settled back against a crenellation as Draco began to read aloud:
Passionate Trousers, Chapter Thirty-Five
The chill air of the dank dungeon clung to Rhiannon's tormented limbs.
Again she feebly struggled against the chains which restrained her manacled ankles. The moist orbs of her amply straining bosom heaved moistly beneath the tattered cloth of her -
'Moistly?' echoed Harry. 'Is moistly even a word?'
'Shakespeare coined words all the time,' Draco pointed out.
'And you think that the author of Passionate Trousers is on a par with Shakespeare?' Harry inquired.
Draco lowered the book. 'Do you want me to keep reading or not?'
'Oh go on then,' said Harry, and settled himself back against the stone wall.
