Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Oh lord, someoneś coming. I must run. I love you.

Hermione.

A frown crinkled the side of Hermioneś mouth. Burdock, mugwort and rue — what was that about? Something Ron had said to her before he left school leaped suddenly into her mind — "It wasn´t just sex, you know. We talked, we ate together, we did our Potions homework…"

She looked again, hard, at the letter. The transition from the first paragraph into the second was fairly subtle; the entreaty to bring ingredients for a potion was buried under endearments, but Hermione had a feeling it was the real gist of the letter. None of the letters, upon more careful perusal, were all that passionate: they were carefully if affectionately worded. Which, indeed, would have been Hermioneś style had she actually written them. She was not much of a love letter writer: she had never even written a love letter to Harry, and could not imagine doing so. She loved him, but the idea of sitting down and writing a paean to his green eyes and adorable nose struck her as faintly ridiculous.

Perhaps she had no poetry in her soul, but there it was.

She slowly lifted her wand and touched the end of it to the paper. There was a simple rhyming charm…

"Ink and parchment, quill and bone

Let this letterś truth be shown.

Quill and inkpot, seal and feather

Reveal the writer of this letter."

The parchment trembled. Then the words on the paper rearranged themselves to form a name: PANSY PARKINSON.

Hermione shrugged to herself as the name on the parchment melted away and the original content returned. Well, she´d expected it to be Pansy. No surprise there. She bit her lip. There was one more thing she could do; she hadn´t done it because she was afraid of the answer. They´d learned in DaDA that certain kinds of Confundus Charms could be woven into written material: the famous "book you could never stop reading," according to Lupin, contained in fact one of the strongest Obedience Charms ever created woven into the text.

"Revelatus confundus," she murmured.

The parchment trembled again. This time the words did not melt away, only some of them darkened and stood out against the rest of the text.

Dearest, I missed you today. I thought about you so much during Potions that I forgot to take notes — pretty soon I´ll be facing my greatest fear, what was it you said? A homework paper that only got nine out of ten?

I can´t wait to see you tonight. I wish I didn´t have so much work to do for my final project. I know itś because I´ve been spending so much time with you that it isn´t ready. We can work on the project together if you don´t mind if I bring some homework with me. Imagine me creeping along the corridors to you, my pockets full of burdock, mugwort and rue…if you wouldn´t mind bringing the yarrow root as well, that would be a help…now, don´t forget!

All I want is just to spend time with you, of course, except that will have to wait until after New Yearś, won´t it? Thank you darling for your obedience and ability to understand…I know itś been hard keeping this a dark secret. Won´t it be a relief when we can finally be together without any hiding.

Oh lord, someoneś coming. I must run and I love you- I hope that you will always love me.

Hermione read the highlighted words out with an audible exclamation of dismay: "Final project is ready. Bring burdock, mugwort and yarrow root.

Now forget all except your obedience to the dark lord and always love me."

She sat back on her heels, and shook her head, a heavy foreboding settling over her. "Oh, Ron," she said aloud. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Harry held out his hand to Lucius. "Give me the quill," he said.

"No," Draco said sharply, and stepped forward, but Lucius had put himself between the two boys, and he held his son off with one arm.

"Harry — "

Harry bit his lip and averted his eyes from Draco. "Give me the quill — " he said again, quickly. "And some parchment."

"A very wise decision," Lucius said. His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "I am glad to see at least one of you has some sense." He continued to hold Draco off with one arm; with the other, he held out parchment and quill to Harry. "Write," he said.

Harry took the quill and paper and stepped back. The quill was one Draco recognized: Lucius´ favorite raven feather, self-inking; the plume was dipped in gold. Harry, Draco thought furiously. Harry, this is stupid, listen to me. Tear up the parchment…

But Harry had blocked him out; his words struck against the walls Harry had thrown up against him like soap bubbles breaking against rocks.

Draco wanted to rush forward and push his father out of the way, but it would have been pointless — in the state he was in, he couldn´t have wrestled a Cornish pixie, and Lucius had always been very strong.

As if he sensed his sonś thoughts, Lucius turned his glass-bright smile on Draco. Draco could sense his fatherś delight: this was what Lucius liked best. Winning, dominating, controlling a situation. Controlling the people in it. His smile widening, Lucius reached into his pocket and took out a clear vial which Draco recognized immediately from Harryś description.

The antidote inside it was pale green. He set it down on the stones at his feet and looked at Harry. It was evident from his posture that he was making it clear that should Harry make a move towards him, he would crush the vial under his boot.

"What was it my old Potions professor used to say?" Lucius mused, his head tilted thoughtfully. "´Why don´t I hear the sound of quills scratching against parchment´? Although, I suppose in this case, it would be only one quill."

Harry said nothing, but his fingers tightened on the quill until they were a bloodless white. And Draco remembered, without being able to help it, what Hermione had said to him at the Hogsmeade station, about Harry.

/They used me to get to him, Draco. They used me — they know how to hurt him the worst, and I can´t be part of that. I won´t be./

Abruptly, Harryś grip on the quill loosened, and he began to write, holding the parchment awkwardly against his forearm. The sound of the nib scratching against the parchment was loud in the still night. Lucius looked down at the antidote at his feet, and then over at Draco. "Calm yourself, boy," he said, as gently as Draco had ever heard him speak. "Let your friend save you, if that is what he wants. Should he preserve you, perhaps you can do the same for him, later."

The gentle tone in Lucius´ voice was too much to bear; Draco looked away from his father and at Harry. His friendś head was bent; he was writing; he did not look up. A queer dreamlike state had come over Draco: he could see everything very clearly, and yet at the same time it was as if the whole world was locked away on one side of a sheet of glass and he was on the other. This was, perhaps, the first thing that had happened to him in a year that he felt Harry could not possibly understand, and that he did not want him to understand. He was not Dumbledore, to regard death as the next great adventure, but he was a Malfoy. He would stare death down and never show that he was afraid. One day…

One day you will understand, he thought at Harry, not knowing whether Harry could hear him or not. I always thought I would follow you up to the gates of Hell if I had to. And that, once arriving there, I would beg the gatekeeper to take me instead of you. And if he must take you, I would ask to come with you. And if he would not let me come with you, I would wait for you on the shores of the river. I promised to watch over you and follow you always. I promised never to leave you. I never thought that death might prevent me. Not your death, but mine.

Harry did not look up.