Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Probably lurking in a corner of the stacks, waiting to catch unsuspecting students who dared dog-ear their textbook pages. Ginny leaned back, her eyes flicking to the clock on the south wall above the door. The face of it changed daily, depending on what school activities were scheduled.

Today, in the four-o-clock spot, the words Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch Match glowed red and green, matching the decorations on the Christmas tree in the corner. Ginny was pleased to see that she had at least another hour and a half before she needed to start getting ready for the match; plenty of time to read another chapter in the latest tale from Witch Weekly's Dragon Heartstrings romance novel series. She had become hooked on them after finding a secret stash of the novels under her mother's collection of kitchen towels. She knew they were trash but she couldn't help herself; this newest one was entitled Passionate Trousers, and so far she was enjoying it very much.

The heaving waves on the vast, black ocean beneath the castle sent a salty spray flying up over the rocks, leaving beads of water to form on the exposed alabaster skin of the tall, flame-haired witch who stood on the high balcony. Her salty tears mixed with the sea spray as she faced Tristan de Malcourt, the wizard who had loved her in every way it was possible for a woman to be loved, and then abandoned her to a cruel fate.

Rhiannon laughed mirthlessly as she faced him now. "Tristan," she said. "I suppose you thought I would not find you."

"On the contrary." His firm gray eyes flashed. "Thou art a very determined witch."

She raised her chin. "Yes, I am."

He turned to walk away. "It will do thee no good, Rhiannon. Thou must find another, I cannot love thee."

"No!" She flung herself at him, and almost bounced off his broad, muscular chest, so broad and muscular was it. "It is you, and only you, that I must be with!"

"What art thou saying?" He spun to face her, his robes swirling around his sturdy, muscular calves. "Thou knowest I need my space!"

"It is too late, Tristan! For — I am with child!"

He goggled at her.

"Yes," she repeated. "With child!"

The words hung in the salty air like overripe peaches. She gazed at him, her huge dark eyes filling with tears — and then he had lunged towards her and gathered her to his broad, manly chest, raining fiery kisses on her full, flowerlike lips. "Rhiannon!" he cried. "This changes everything! My darling! My angel! My light! My life!"

Heedlessly she abandoned herself to his caresses as his long, elegant masculine fingers dispensed with her bodice buttons more swiftly than a practiced Summoning Spell. She leaned back against the balustrade and let him do with her as he wished, her breathing becoming a hungry panting as he shoved her skirts up around her thighs, his hands stroking her creamy skin, and she tried to banish the worrying thought that perhaps she should tell him that the child she carried was not his after all, but the child of the evil Dark Wizard Morgan, Tristan's most hated enemy…

"She should probably tell him," said a voice behind her. "Otherwise, I envision things getting very rocky for them farther down the road."

Ginny spun around with such suddenness that Passionate Trousers was knocked to the floor at her feet. She felt herself go scarlet. She had never quite realized before how garish the cover actually was — "From the Dragon Heartstrings series! Where bosoms actually heave!" it proclaimed in glittering letters, just above the illustration of a swooning witch being given what looked like CPR by a shirtless blond wizard in alarming velvet trousers. As she watched, the wizard looked up from what he was doing, winked, and blew her a kiss. This would have been embarrassing in any case, but was doubly so with Draco Malfoy standing next to her, looking tall, blond, and immaculately composed. As she looked from the book to him his mouth twitched into a slow smile, his gray eyes lighting up.

"Oh," she said awkwardly. "You."

He bent down and picked up Passionate Trousers, whether to glance at it or hand it to her she didn't know or care. She reached out and yanked the book out of his grip, shoving it under her Astronomy textbook.

"I was enjoying that," he said, looking injured. "Especially the part where she could feel the proof of his rampant passion pressing against her — "

"Pig," she hissed at him, under her breath.

"No, I'm pretty sure that wasn't it. Rhiannon doesn't seem like the sort of witch who'd have a pig, or much interaction with barnyard animals of any sort."

"Unless you count Tristan," said Ginny irritably.

"Now, I rather like Tristan," said Draco. He shifted the book his was holding from his right hand to his left, and gestured expansively with it.

"He seems like a wizard with the right sort of ideas."

Ginny sniffed. "He heartlessly abandoned Rhiannon and left her in the clutches of her evil uncle Rodrigo!"

"Well," Draco pointed out, "he didn't know Rodrigo was evil. He thought he was doing what was best for her, since he couldn't tell her he was on the run from the Council of Wizards."

"It was not what was best for her!" Ginny said heatedly. She could feel the blood rushing into her face and knew she was probably scarlet with annoyance. "She loved him and without him her life was meaningless."

"Better than having no life," said Draco rather coldly. "Better than having your soul sucked out by minions of evil."

"And what do you know about it, Draco Malfoy?"

"Listen, Weasley-"

"How long were you standing there reading over my shoulder, anyway?"

"I-"

A sharp voice interrupted them. "Miss Weasley! Mister Malfoy! What is this disturbance?" It was Madam Pince, looking poisonous. "I cannot believe you are shouting in my library."

Ginny blushed. "I'm sorry, Madam Pince."

"What could be of such urgent importance that you have to shriek about it?"

"It was just a private argument," said Draco, widening his eyes and looking angelic. Madam Pince was unmoved. "Well, take your little lover's spats elsewhere from now on."

Ginny gasped. "Lover's spats?"

Madam Pince raised her eyes. "Yes, Miss Weasley?"

"This wasn't a lover' spat," Ginny protested firmly. "It was a completely love-free spat."

Madam Pince shook her head.

Draco looked amused.

"I don't even like him," Ginny added, indicating Draco with a gesture.

"I really don't care," said Madam Pince. "Ten points from Gryffindor, ten points from Slytherin." She shot a look at Draco. "And you a prefect, too," she said, sniffed, and walked away.

"Blaise will be so disappointed in you," said Ginny, with heavy sarcasm, turning back to Draco. But he was already gone — halfway across the library on his way to the door. She watched in mingled exasperation and disappointment as he vanished through the door, and it was only when he was quite gone and she turned back to her books that she realized he had taken her copy of Passionate Trousers with him.

Entering the small room that served as the NEWT-Level Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Draco was surprised to see Hermione already there, sitting at the table, apparently absorbed in a book entitled A Runic Alphabet. Since it was such a small class, boasting only seven students (Harry, Hermione, Eloise Midgen, Terry Boot, Neville Longbottom, Padma Patil, and Draco himself) it was conducted around a battered old wooden table, with Professor Lupin chatting and consulting with them as if they were all old friends.

Draco slid into the seat next to Hermione and spoke under his breath. "I cannot believe you skived off the prefects' meeting."

She didn't look at him, but her cheeks turned dark red. "I know. I forgot."

"You forgot? How could you forget? You live for that kind of thing."