Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"Oh, for goodness sake." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Listen to you two. 'Here comes Draco Malfoy, let's all pitch our knickers at him in a mad fit of passion.' I mean, really. Whatever happened to Gryffindor pride and — "

"There's no point pitching our knickers at him," interrupted Lavender severely. "He's dating Blaise."

Ginny put her milk glass down with a thump. "Sarcasm is just lost on you, isn't it?" She wondered, not for the first time, what they would say if she told them that she'd shared several passionate lip-locks with Draco over the summer and that he wasn't anything special. She dismissed the idea: firstly, because they wouldn't believe her anyway, and secondly because it wasn't exactly true. "Anyway, since when are you two close with Blaise?"

Parvati shrugged. "You can't infringe on another girl's territory, even if she is a Slytherin. It's the Girl Code of Conduct."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "The Girl Code of Conduct?"

"It's like the Wizard Code of Conduct," said a familiar voice in her ear, "only with more corsets."

Ginny turned around to see her brother in the process of taking the seat beside her. "Ron!" she said, astonished. "You look awful."

He did look awful, or at least as if he hadn't slept all night — his hair was a mess and there were nearly-black circles of exhaustion under his blue eyes. But his grin radiated good humor. "Thanks, Gin. I know I can always count on you to fluff up the old ego." He held out a hand. "Eggs," he added.

Ginny handed him the plate of eggs. "Did you not get any sleep, or what?"

Shoveling food into his mouth, Ron did not answer. A moment later Harry and Hermione had joined them at the table. Neither of them looked particularly rested either, although this surprised Ginny less. Last time she'd seen Harry he'd been unconscious in the snow, and she surmised that Hermione had probably been up taking care of him all night. "Hallo!"

she sang cheerfully. Harry winced. Hermione, whose skin seemed nearly translucent with tiredness, smiled at her wanly. "I'm so glad we have a match against Slytherin today," added Ginny breezily. "Harry and Ron just look ready to mop the field with them. I've got a suggestion, Harry.

When it looks like Draco's just about to catch the Snitch, why don't you throw up on him?"

"Eurgh," said Harry, looking green.

"We'll do fine," said Ron, discreetly shoving the water pitcher in Harry's direction. "Rehydrate, Harry."

While Harry dutifully drank the water, Hermione looked at him anxiously.

"Oh, go to Madam Pomfrey, would you?" she said finally. "I just know she must have Hangover potions around somewhere, and I haven't got time to make you one before the game. They take at least a day to prepare."

"All right." Harry waved his hand feebly. "I'll go. I'll go before History of Magic."

"That's good," said Ginny. "Because right now you look like you couldn't fly if they shot you out of a cannon."

"You're just annoyed because I went drinking with Draco, and you don't like him," said Harry, irritability making him forthright.

"Shhh," hissed Ginny, almost upsetting her milk glass. "His fan club will hear you."

"Draco has a fan club?" said Harry with frank amazement.

Ginny jerked her chin down the table towards Lavender and Parvati, who were now giggling with a few of the sixth-year girls. "Yes, and they're having a meeting right now."

Ron snorted. "Is there some problem with the bridge they normally meet under?"

Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice, then giggled. "Ron…"

"Yes?"

Hermione gave him an innocent look. "Nothing." She put her glass down and smiled. "I was just about to say that I've got some Pepperup Potion in my trunk if you need it. You look a little tired."

"I'm not tired," said Ron, and yawned hugely. "I'm fine."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You do remember we have a prefects' meeting at two o'clock don't you?"

"Good point," said Ron. "No Pepperup potion for me. It'd be too cruel to deprive me of the opportunity to sleep through one of those meetings."

"And the mystery of why the ever let you be Head Boy deepens," said Hermione, shaking her head. "What'd you do — take a leaf out of Fred and George's book and blackmail them?"

Harry reached over and thumped Ron on the back. "Ron here happens to have many fine leadership qualities," he said.

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "He's currently leading the House in least amount of homework done, most amount of butterbeer consumed, and most number of letters received from suspicious French tarts with silly names."

"Right," said Ron, "because Hermione isn't a silly name at all."

"This isn't about my name — " Hermione began indignantly, then jumped.

"Ow! Ron!" She glared at him. "I cannot believe you kicked me under the table. That is so immature."

Ron smiled at her pleasantly. Ginny remembered the time that someone -

Draco, she privately suspected — had changed the lettering on his Head Boy badge so that instead of reading "Ron Weasley, Head Boy" it read

"Ron Weasley, Smug Bastard." Ron had not been amused, despite the fact that years ago, when Fred and George had done much the same thing to Percy, he had thought it was hilarious.

Perhaps, she mused, Harry hadn't been at all thick to turn down the Head Boy job after all.

The roof of the Prefects' Hall disappeared into raftered darkness overhead. The round table that sat in the middle of the room, around which generations of school prefects had sat, was scarred with the marks of years — the incisions of quills, sliced initials, stains of spilled ink. In the center of the table was a slightly raised silver ring, about ten inches in diameter.

The north wall of the room held two stained-glass windows, one gold, one blue; the south wall's windows were green and scarlet. Ron stood at the head of the table, his back to the east wall. There was a long white finger of clear window behind him, mazed with frost, and through it, more whiteness was visible — snow, caught in the bare branches of trees, the colorless spark of sunlight off icicles. In front of all the whiteness, Ron's bright hair and scarlet jumper stood out like burning banners.

"This meeting will come to order." He rapped on the table with a hand, and grinned. "All right, everybody, sit down." He jerked his chin towards Draco, who was still standing by the door. "Malfoy, get over here and sit down. You're late."

The other prefects — each house was granted two prefects a year, from fifth year on up, making twenty-four in total — turned and looked at him.

Pansy Parkinson, the other Slytherin prefect, rolled her eyes and pushed the chair next to her out so that he could sit down.

The back of each of the Slytherin prefects' chairs was embossed with a curling silver snake. "Sit," she said.

He didn't. His eyes scanned up and down the table and came to rest on Ron. "Where's Hermione?"

Ron looked irritable. "She couldn't make it. This is going to be a short meeting and she's empowered me to act on both our behalves."

"Really." Draco came around the table slowly and flopped into the chair next to Pansy. This put him directly on Ron's left side. He pitched his voice low, "You don't know where she is, do you?"

Ron, shuffling parchments, pretended to ignore him.

"She wouldn't just miss a meeting for no reason. She loves meetings even more than she loves me."

"She loves syphilis more than she loves you, Malfoy," hissed Ron.

Justin Finch-Fletchley, sitting farther down the table, raised an eyebrow.

"Did someone say something about syphilis?"