Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"I´m sure. She was there when I woke up this morning, too."

"Who was there?" Draco asked, looking as if he knew the answer to this question already.

"Erm," said Harry. "Rhysenn."

"Gah." Draco goggled at him. "And what on this earth, Harry, possessed you to think that this was somehow a good idea?"

"I´ve no idea — I don´t even remember it properly."

"You don´t remember? Then how do you know that — "

"Because, she told me! She was there in the bed when I woke up this morning and she told me!" Harry winced, remembering the look of cold amusement in her eyes, the images her words had conjured up…Things happened to me last night that have never happened to me before…

"And you believed her?" Dracoś mouth twitched into a smile. "In that case, I´ve got some flying carpet stock I´d like to sell you."

Harry cleared his throat. He could feel himself blushing like a sunset. "We were both… naked. Under the covers."

"Oh, well, that clinches it." Draco rolled his eyes. "I´m not sure thereś any way of getting to the bottom of this without me asking you a whole bunch of questions I really don´t want to ask you. Letś just take it as read that you had sex with her, if thatś what you want to think."

Harry glared at him. "I can´t tell if you´re being sarcastic or not."

"Itś me, Potter. I´m always sarcastic."

Harryś mouth crumpled. "Hermione will never forgive me," he said.

"And thatś where you´re not wrong," Draco agreed brightly.

"I don´t see why you think this is so funny…"

"Not funny," Draco corrected. "Hilarious."

Harry glared at him.

"Come on, Potter. I mean, in the face of everything we have to deal with, this issue of whether you got sozzled and knocked boots with a sex demon seems a little frivolous."

"She might have done something weird and unnatural to me," Harry pointed out stiffly.

"I hope so," Draco said. "Not much else would justify this amount of carrying on."

"And here I thought you´d be upset," said Harry. "Silly me."

"I am upset," Draco said, not looking upset at all. "And I´d be more upset if I thought it was very likely that she´d told you the truth, which I don´t.

For one thing, it stretches the bounds of credulity to suppose that you would have sex before I did. It was bad enough when Weasley did. But you

— look at you, with that choirboy face. You can´t even say the word sex without hiccoughing."

Harry looked at Draco resentfully. It was quite unfair that Draco, while no more experienced than he himself had been yesterday, should have be born looking as if he knew everything there was to know about sex and was already bored with most of it. "I can too say the word sex," he snapped childishly. "Sex sex sex sex sex sex sex."

And he might have proceeded in this vein for quite some time, if a voice had not unexpectedly interrupted him. "Indeed," it said, and Harry spun around to see Lucius Malfoy standing by the open tower door. "I had always heard that adolescent boys talked about nothing but sex, but I had not expected quite so literal a demonstration."

"Pansy?" Hermione demanded, her voice rising ever higher. "Pansy PARKINSON?"

"Well," Charlie said. "Actually…yes."

"Are you sure? Are you totally sure she was that — that Slytherin cow?"

Fred and George simultaneously inched their chairs away from Hermione.

Charlie, bravely, held his ground. "Judging by her reaction, yes. We´re sure."

"That bitch!" Hermione shrieked, banging her fist down on the table. The vase trembled. "I can´t believe I had the chance to wring her twisted little neck yesterday and I didn´t even know! That hateful, horrible — oh, when I get my hands on her, I´ll throttle her until she turns blue! And then I´ll tear her into pieces and I´ll jump on the pieces until — until sheś had enough!"

"You do that," said George.

"Indeed," agreed Fred. "And if thereś going to be hair-pulling, bring a camera, too."

"Oh, shut up, Fred," said Hermione irritably. "Just because you´re a pervert doesn´t mean all boys like to watch girls fighting."

There was a short silence.

"Anyone for tea?" Charlie inquired.

"I don´t want tea," said Hermione grumpily.

"I know," Charlie said amiably, "but we´re all out of bitter revenge, so itś either tea or nothing."

"I´m hungry," George opined in a hopeful tone.

"Good." Charlie bounced up from the table. "I´ll make some food."

"Thatś Charlie," observed Fred cheerily. "When in doubt, cook."

Hermione, refusing to be cheered, continued to stare moodily at the table.

"I really wish you hadn´t told me about Pansy," she said through her teeth.

"Took your mind off Harry and Malfoy for a second, didn´t it — ow!"

George said, breaking off as Fred punched him, none too subtly, in the arm. "What? She was worrying!"

"And now sheś worrying again!" Fred snapped, waving an arm towards Hermione as if she were a natural disaster for which George was ultimately responsible.

George was spared answering by the opening of the kitchen door. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came in, heavily bundled up in winter cloaks, flakes of snow melting in their hair.

"Any word from Ron and Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley asked immediately, shedding her heavy cloak and dropping her gloves on the table.

"No, Mum, nothing," said Charlie quietly. "But…" He pointed the metal cooking spoon he was holding at the kitchen clock: both Ron and Ginnyś hands stood firmly on Travelling. "They´re obviously fine. I´m sure if either of them could Apparate, they´d have been back before Fred and George."

"I know, I know…oh, Hermione, love, I almost didn´t see you!" Hermione felt a brief flash of guilt as Mrs. Weasley hugged and kissed her and Mr.

Weasley proffered a fatherly handshake; she knew they´d rather she was Ginny or Ron, or even Harry — they both adored Harry as if he was their own son. She was sure they were ill with worry inside, although they both hid it well. "Are you all right, dear?"

Hermione nodded. "I´m fine," she said, and settled back quietly as the two elder Weasleys joined their offspring at the kitchen table. Soon enough everyone was picking at Charlieś signature macaroni and cheese, which he made with chunks of garlic bread cooked in. (Hermione had always found it rather odd, although not perhaps as peculiar as Mrs.

Weasleyś famous black-cherry toffee-espresso brownies, a stray crumb of which Hermione held secretly responsible for the death of Errol two years before.) No one was saying much.

The conversation was enlivened somewhat when there was another knock at the door: this time it was Lupin and Sirius, having spent the past hour installing a semi-hysterical Narcissa at the home of a family friend who had promised that his house was so well warded and so Unplottable that Lucius would never find it. They were both glad to see Hermione alive and well, although neither seemed interested in the macaroni.

"Howś everything at the Guild, Remus?" Mr. Weasley asked as Mrs.

Weasley Summoned chairs for the newcomers and they squeezed in at the table between George and Charlie.

Lupin shrugged. "Panicked. Moodyś running around shredding files.

Heś convinced all his classified documents are about to be seized by minions of Voldemort. He seems crushed that his and Dumbledoreś plan to stop Lucius didn´t come to anything."

"Well, no one could have foreseen…" Mrs. Weasley said softly.

Sirius sighed. "I know, I know, but considering how foolish I feel, I can only imagine how foolish the head of the Guild must feel about now. How are things at the Ministry, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley looked at his wife, then back at Sirius. "I wouldn´t know," he said gruffly. "Apparently I´m no longer Minister. In fact, I´m not even allowed in the building."