Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"Although," said Ron, still addressing his words to Rhysenn, although his eyes were on his former pet, "it seems to be infested with rats."

Rhysenn chuckled. "That's not very nice," she said. "Peter is so awfully sensitive about his former condition, aren't you, Peter?"

"Shut up, you demon bitch," Wormtail snapped, his small, deep-set eyes flashing at her.

Rhysenn hissed at him through the bars of the cage. Ron was reminded briefly and surreally of being in some kind of zoo. "Sniveling rodent," she sneered.

"Lucius' whore," Wormtail shot back.

"Fascinating as this conversation is, I think I'm going to take a walk," said Ron loudly.

They both stared at him. "A walk?" Rhysenn said.

"A walk to where?" asked Wormtail.

"Away from you, for a start," said Ron. He straightened his shoulders. "I'm hungry. I'm tired of this room. You-Know-Who didn't tell me I have to stay in here. So I'm not staying." He narrowed his eyes. "Feel free to try and stop me."

"Oh, I wouldn't bother." There was a high-pitched giggle somewhere behind Wormtail's voice. "Enjoy your walk. I remember when we used to stroll around the lake together, me in your pocket…"

"Oh, belt up," said Ron, exasperated. "I was thirteen. I'm seventeen now.

I'm over the whole pet rat debacle. I've moved on. You were a lousy fucking rat and you're a lousier fucking person. Now get out of my way."

Wormtail stepped aside as Ron stalked over to the door. His small eyes glittered malevolently. "Before you go…perhaps we might go somewhere to talk," he hissed, his teeth yellow in the lamplight. "I have a suggestion you might be interested in…"

"And I have one for you," said Ron, jerking the door open. "Drop dead," and with that, he stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"You know," Rhysenn observed, into the subsequent silence, "I really think I'm starting to like him a lot better than the last one."

When Sirius and Lupin arrived on the third floor they found it empty save for Percy Weasley, who was leaning against one of the hallway walls, a stunned look on his face. Sirius paused and looked at Lupin, who shrugged as if to say, All up to you, mate.

"Percy," said Sirius, stepping forward, "we're looking for Minister Parkinson. Have you seen him?"

Percy said nothing.

"Percy," repeated Sirius gently, "is everything all right?"

Percy continued to stare vacantly off down the hallway. "That turtle," he said. "That turtle ran off with my report on flying carpets."

Lupin stifled a cough. Sirius swung around and looked at him sternly, then turned back to Percy. "You know, Percy," he said, "There are many brands of decaffeinated coffee on the market that taste just as good as the real thing."

Percy's head snapped around and he shot Sirius an indignant look. "I'm not mad," he said. "Or overtired, either. You told me to stay around the Ministry and take notes, so I've been staying. Only Lucius Malfoy turned my desk into a turtle."

"Why a turtle?" Sirius asked.

Percy shrugged. "Why not a turtle?"

"He has a point," Lupin said.

Percy raised a hand and pointed off down the hallway towards a distant door. "He went that way, by the way."

"The turtle?" Sirius asked.

Percy looked aggrieved. "Francis Parkinson."

Sirius clapped a hand onto the red-headed boy's shoulder. "Thanks, Percy."

Percy waved a hand. "No problem."

Sirius set off down the hall with Lupin in tow. The distant door turned out to have a plaque on it: The Department for the Regulation of Memory Charms.

"What do you suppose he's doing in here?" Lupin asked.

Sirius shrugged and pushed the door open. Inside was an ordinary Ministry office: desks, chairs, floating Roll-O-Scrolls, piles of empty inkbottles waiting to be refilled by office elves. He recognized very few of the dark-robed men milling about between the desks, but a few he knew by sight, and did not like.

In the center of the room stood Lucius Malfoy, a silvery-tall presence in black robes. He was talking to a stoutish, balding wizard with a round, hard face and a pug nose whom Sirius recognized instantly as newly-elected Minister Francis Parkinson. "What do you mean the dragon hounds have found no trace of her, Parkinson? I thought we knew every safe house in Britain — "

He broke off as if he sensed Sirius' presence, and turned. For a moment they locked eyes; Lucius smiled, showing sharp canine teeth.

"Malfoy," Sirius said. "I need to talk to you."

"Ah, Sirius Black," said Lucius, flashing a cool smile. "Here to give me a headache, I suspect."

"You know what I've heard is good for headaches?" said Sirius.

"Amputation."

Francis Parkinson made a low rumbling noise in his throat. "I really don't think — "

But Lucius silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Francis…perfectly all right. Black here and I are old friends." Lucius leaned back against the desk behind him, looking bored. "I suppose this is about your contesting of my adoption claims, Black," Lucius said. "Alas, as long as we're awaiting our court date, my soliciter has forbidden me to discuss the matter with you. So sorry. Care to talk about the weather instead?"

"I didn't come about that," Sirius said. "I came about a missing person.

Ron Weasley."

Minister Parkinson flinched, and his expression darkened. Lucius himself snorted. "The Weasleys suddenly missing a brat?" he inquired. "How can they even tell?"

Sirius gritted his teeth. It was Lupin who spoke. "He's been missing since the party on Saturday," he said. "He was whirlwhinded away with everyone else, but he hasn't returned."

"It could be that he simply has no interest in going home," said Lucius.

"There's another Weasley spawn moping about the corridors here who refuses to return home despite all inducements to the contrary. Perhaps the Weasleys beat their children."

"Percy is here because he works here," said Lupin tightly. "Ron is a child, and quite possibly lost somewhere, injured, unable to return home…it could be bad publicity for the Ministry if nothing was done to find him."

"Oh, no," said Lucius. "Not bad publicity." He smiled malevolently, and perched himself on the edge of the desk, looping his hands over one knee.

They were very like his son's hands: elegant, delicate, elongated, perhaps a trifle prettier than their owners might have wished. "Come, now, Black," he said. "You're an intelligent man. Brilliant, in your own way. And not without insight."

"You know, I keep telling myself these things every day," said Sirius. "But they just sound so much better when somebody else says them."

Lucius ignored this. "We all saw what happened at the party. I daresay teenagers will be teenagers, after all. But after what young Weasley did — well, sleeping with your best friend's paramour is never a bright idea, but when that best friend is Harry Potter, famous and powerful wizard, Magid extraordinaire, and when your transgressions against him have been publicly revealed in the most painful and humiliating possible way…well, wouldn't you be afraid to return home?"

"Are you suggesting that Ron is afraid to return because he's afraid of Harry?" Sirius demanded, incredulous.

"No, I'm not suggesting it," Lucius said. "I'm saying it."

The Death Eaters — for that was what they were, Sirius acknowleged to himself, not Ministry officials but Death Eaters — sniggered appreciatively.

"Harry Potter is dangerously unstable," Lucius went on smoothly. "The wizarding world has known this for years but fear and recalcitrant administrators have prevented us from doing anything about it. Need I remind you that the last time a Magid went renegade a team of hit wizards had to be dispatched to deal with the problem."

"Renegade…" Sirius sputtered. "Hit wizards? Harry's not going to go berserk just because his best friend — I mean, that's ridiculous, he's a perfectly well-adjusted child, he's never shown a spark of interest in abusing his powers…"