Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Thank you, father.

The blood had gotten in his mouth. It had not tasted like blood at all, more like burned sugar.

Draco had thought his father was wonderful then. And knew he was somewhere now, watching his son's own slow death, holding his gloved hands away this time, not wanting to get them bloodied. The poison would do his death-work for him.

"Thank you," said Draco, when Snape was done explaining. He saw the Potions Master looking at him anxiously. "I appreciate you telling me the truth."

"Do you want a Memory Charm?" Snape asked.

Draco shook his head. "No. I don't need it." He felt the side of his mouth twitch into what was nearly a smile, looking at the expression on Snape's face. "I can stand it," he said. "I was imagining worse."

Snape nodded somberly. "Sometimes I forget," he said. "Because you are so young. But you are Lucius Malfoy's son, after all. I imagine you have seen things that would make most children's nightmares look like peaceful daydreams."

Now Draco did smile. "Am I a child? I didn't think I was."

Snape did not reply. Instead he drew a clear glass flask from his cloak and held it out to Draco. "Speaking of nightmares," he said. "This was what I wanted to talk to you about. Another side effect of the poison is sleep disturbance. You may find yourself having peculiar dreams. This is a Somnolus potion. It will give you dreamless, instant sleep."

Draco accepted the flask. "Thank you. I appreciate it." He turned and crossed the room to the door, then paused there, and turned back to Snape. "Professor — before I go back to the infirmary, I was wondering — "

"Yes?"

"Do the others know everything you just told me? Does Harry?"

Snape's mouth twisted into a thin line. "You have other things to worry about besides Potter and his delicate sensibilities, Draco," he snapped, surprising Draco with his vehemence. "Do not waste your remaining energy on him."

Draco blinked. "Professor, with all due respect. Harry is — "

"Your friend?" Snape's tone was suddenly cool and slippery as glass. "Or just someone whom you allow to lead you around?"

Draco paused with his hand on the dungeon door. "He doesn't lead me around," he said, his fingers on the bronze bolt. He felt slightly feverish and suddenly longed for a cool windowpane to lean his cheek against. "I want to go where he goes. It's not the same thing."

Snape looked almost surprised, but said nothing. Draco pushed the door open and went out into the corridor. It was dank and almost cold down here, especially when the door closed behind him. He leaned back against the nearest wall and unscrewed the top of the flask Snape had given him.

When he took a sniff of the sharp-scented liquid a wave of dizziness rolled over him, as if he'd taken a mouthful of Archenland wine.

His grip tightened on the flask, and he thought about the steps up to the infirmary, his bed there, and how much he wanted to fall asleep and dream nothing, remember nothing. Just for a small while. Surely he'd earned a little piece of oblivion.

He began to climb the steps.

"I still don't understand," Ginny said softly, "how you know who I am."

She sat on a hard chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, her eyes on her hands. Her left hand was swelling up and turning black along the side. It hurt to even try to close it. She was sure Tom had shattered a bone there but it did not seem very important at the moment.

"I wish I did not know who you were," Dumbledore said. His voice was even. His right hand rested gently atop the Time-Turner which sat on the desk before him. The light in the office was not bright: it was a small office, an office for a Transfigurations professor. The Time-Turner gleamed a dull gold under his touch. "But the truth is, I have been expecting you, Miss Weasley."

"How could you possibly have been?" Ginny felt too stunned to be bewildered, but she wondered if she had perhaps heard him wrong. "I shouldn't even be here."

"No, you should not be here. That is very true." At the tone in his voice, Ginny glanced up and then wished she hadn't. The look in his eyes was more than somber: it was wearily despairing. "But the fact remains that you did make this journey. And in doing so…"

"Have I changed history?" she whispered.

Dumbledore looked, for a moment, amused. "That would depend on what you mean by history," he said. "If you are asking if everything you know will be altered when you return to your own present — no, it will not. If you are asking if you have changed my future, the future of young Master Riddle — why yes. You have indeed."

"Tom." Ginny squeezed her eyes shut tightly. "Professor Dumbledore, sir -

— I have to warn you about him. He's not what you think, he's — "

"No." He spoke sternly. "I do not want to hear about the future, Miss Weasley. I know more than I should already."

"But he's going to kill people — "

"Be quiet." Dumbledore's voice, though quiet, was like a whip cracking across her face; she flinched back. "I cannot know these things, and if you insist upon telling me them I will Memory-Charm myself into forgetfulness before I can act upon my knowledge. I am deadly serious."

"Then you're just going to let them die?" she whispered.

"In your time are they not already dead?" Dumbledore sounded weary.

"Not all of them," Ginny said. "I just want to save the people I love."

Dumbledore sighed. "Time plays tricks upon us all, Miss Weasley," he said. "Should you succeed in altering history, the people you love might perhaps never be born. You might never be born. The truth is that I do not know why you are here. I received a message telling me of your impending visit, and requesting me to end it and return you to your own time. Certain.. clues within the missive indicated to me that the author was a particular person I happen to know and trust. Therefore, I am carrying out these instructions — and, indeed, you are here as he said you would be. However, that is all that I desire to or should know of the future. It is now time for me to ensure that you return safely to your own time, and I intend to do so. Come here."

Ginny stood, cradling her injured hand, and went to Dumbledore's side.

She bent her head and allowed him to slip the Time-Turner over her head. It fell against her chest and she shivered at the touch of cold glass and metal. He glanced up at her, and she saw the deep concern in his light blue eyes. "And Tom…" she whispered.

"Time will put you beyond Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said. "And thank God for that. Tom never discounts an injury, and you made him look a fool. He will not soon forget it."

"No." Ginny half-shut her eyes, thinking of the look on Tom's face when Dumbledore had called her Miss Weasley. His eyes when he stared at her.

He would not forget her, and no amount of time could put her beyond Tom. "No, he won't."

A look of concern passed over Dumbledore's face. "Miss Weasley…"

But her hand had gone to the Time-Turner and flipped it over. His concerned expression wavered before her and flickered out like a lamp as the spinning must caught her and flung her outward, her broken hand clutched protectively to her chest.

It took only eight chess games this time, to break through the block and allow him to see the future.

Perhaps it was because this time Ron was making a conscious effort to see ahead. He carefully threw his mind forward, visualizing the board the way it would be in five minutes. Ten minutes. After one move. After six. He moved the pieces as if it were automatic. He was winning. He didn't care.

Halfway through the first game he noticed that the green knight was missing. It had been replaced by a black piece. He did not ask why. He moved his pieces. The games went on.