Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Then again, they wouldn't very well be silver, would they? "It was very reassuring to hear that you're looking forward to your assignment, Draco, especially since outlines of your project choices will be due after Christmas vacation." He smiled. "Which is why I put you and Harry on the same team, since I know you'll be spending your holiday break together."

"He'll be with Hermione too. You didn't need to put him with me."

"She can work alone. You can't."

"I can — "

"You'll work better with Harry," said Lupin, with finality. "Is this a problem?"

"No…uh, no." Draco was a bit taken a back at his own behavior. He wanted to work with Harry. He rather suspected he had just been fishing for information about Hermione's private project. Bad Draco, he told himself experimentally, but nothing happened — self-criticism was not his forte. "I don't mind working with Harry."

"Good, because Dumbledore and I discussed it and we want you together."

"You talked about us?"

"We often do." Lupin smiled and picked up his case. "Surprised?"

"I suppose not." Draco held the door open for Lupin to walk out of the room and they started down the corridor together. "I don't imagine it'd do any good to ask what you say?"

"None," said Lupin pleasantly.

"Any reason you kept me after class?"

Lupin stopped walking and faced him, his eyes thoughtful. "Just to tell you that if you and Harry run into any problems, I want you to come directly to me. I'll also be at the Manor over Christmas, and available to you then as well."

"Oh. Okay." Draco didn't know what else to say — he had never in his life gone to a teacher for extra assistance, and he knew exactly how Harry felt about going to teachers for anything at all. It was a bit of a mania with Harry, doing things on his own; then again, Draco supposed he himself was much the same way. "Will do."

"And you have a good idea what kinds of materials you might need?"

Draco nodded. "We're sorted, thanks."

Lupin nodded. "All right. Good luck on the game, then," he added, and surprised Draco by shaking his hand. "May the best team win."

"I thought you were a Gryffindor fan, professor," said Draco curiously. "I thought you were all in Gryffindor, you and Harry's dad and Sirius and…"

"Is that what you thought?" said Lupin mildly, and turned away. Draco looked for a moment after him with great curiosity — what did he mean by that? — before he turned and bolted for the Quidditch pitch, anxious not to be late.

Ginny tried to stifle a yawn. She was sitting between Elizabeth and Seamus on the uncomfortable wooden benches in the Gryffindor Quidditch changing room, listening to Harry give his pre-game pep talk. Everyone seemed to be paying rapt attention, even Ron, who was fiddling with the fastenings on his knee guards. Harry was excellent at pep talks, which had always surprised Ginny since he was so unenthusiastic in general about public speaking. But Quidditch, like Hermione, was a subject that brought out the passion in him — he gestured with his hands while he talked, his black hair dancing, green eyes sparking animatedly. He also, she thought, looked his best in his Quidditch uniform — the burgundy-and-gold striped sweater, light corduroys, and knee-high leather knee protectors suited him. Harry tended not to wear the regulation elbow protectors, as he claimed they slowed down his reach and made him less effective at catching the Snitch, but he did wear the fingerless black leather gloves, at least in winter. Back when she had had a crush on him, the outfit had tended to reduce her to speechlessness; even now, it made her stomach do a friendly little flip. Of course, he wasn't the only boy she knew who looked good in his Quidditch uniform, but still. There was no harm in silent appreciation.

She blinked as everyone around her started to their feet — apparently the pep talk was over and she hadn't heard a word of it. Seamus, Colin, Elizabeth and Dennis filed past her; Ron half-stood, then cursed quietly as the strap on his knee guard broke. Harry glanced back, but Ron waved him away. "You go on," he said, and grabbed for his wand. Harry nodded and reached for his Firebolt; Ginny followed suit, and went after him down the corridor that led out to the Quidditch pitch. They joined the rest of the team there, and a moment later Ron caught up with them.

It was a bright, brisk winter afternoon, so sharply chilly that Ginny's eyes stung. She raised her head, feeling the cold air touch the tip of her nose, her uncovered ears. Her hair was bundled under a black woolly hat, and the fingerless gloves on her hands were tipped with mini Warming Charms, but the chill still seeped into her skin.

She glanced around. The ground below the pitch was scraped clean, as flat and icy as a skating rink. The diminishing sunlight striped it with bars of gold. Behind the pitch rose the Forbidden Forest, the trees immense and winter-black. Stripped of leaves and outlined by the snow, they had a thorny, medieval symmetry.

The crowds whooped and cheered from the stands, many of them clutching orange-glowing Hot Potatoes, a new product from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that exploded in House colors after the game ended.

Ginny saw Hermione sitting towards the front of the stands, a white knitted cap covering her curly brown hair. She was flanked on her left by George and his girlfriend Jana, who came in from Hogsmeade for the game. Both the twins liked to watch their little sister and brother fly, and were trading off coming in for the matches when the joke shop wasn't too busy.

Ginny raised her hand and waved, and Hermione waved back. Her cheeks were scarlet with cold and, together with the white cap and her curling dark hair, made her look very pretty. Next to her, George made a rude gesture. Ginny was surprised, until she realized that he was looking past her at the Slytherin team, who had just come out onto the pitch opposite them.

She felt herself tense. Gryffindor-Slytherin matches were always the worst, for a multitude of reasons. She hated how fierce and embattled they always were, and how tense they made Harry — she knew, since he had told her back in September, that he and Draco had made a pact never to use their telepathy during a game, as it was both too distracting and could be considered cheating. She knew that Draco was the best flier in the school, after Harry, and the only one who could really challenge Harry on his own ground; she also knew that Harry didn't like having to fly against him, although he never let it get in the way of the game. Harry was nothing if not consummately professional where Quidditch was concerned.

As if he knew Ginny was thinking about him, at that moment Harry tapped her on the shoulder. "You all right?" he asked.

She knew what he meant; they were all always asking her if she was all right when Draco was around. She looked over at the unmentioned subject of the question, who stood as he always did before a game, arms crossed, broomstick at his feet, his team ranged out behind him as if they were arrayed on a stage. Everything was drama to him, she thought irritably. Everything was about staging. He had probably calculated for hours where to stand so that the sunlight struck him just so, lightening his fair hair to silver and making both it and the silver stripes along his green-striped sweater shine like new metal.

His forest-green Quidditch cloak hung just so, making a perfectly even line from his shoulders down to his polished black boots. Like Harry, he eschewed the elbow protectors and wore the fingerless leather gloves, although his were cleaner and gleamed as if they were new. In fact, the whole Slytherin Quidditch team gleamed as if they had just been polished, from Malcolm Baddock's new Asteroid 2000 broom to Blaise's red-gold hair, which was not, like Ginny's, stuffed under a woolly hat, but instead poured like a river of fire down her back to her waist. They had made some non-regulation alterations to their uniforms — they wore black instead of the usual light-colored corduroys, and all of them wore lace-up leather boots instead of trainers. Polished silver buckles held their emerald robes in place over their shoulders. The general overall effect reminded Ginny of the team of horses who drew the Beauxbatons carriage: sleek, matching, purebred, mean as hell.