Кассандра Клэр: Draco Veritas

He was wearing a scaled glove, like lizardskin, and in that hand he held something that wriggled and twisted. A serpent.

"I do miss my Nagini," the Dark Lord said. "There are none more like her."

"No," said Lucius quietly. "Master…the matter I came to speak with you about…it remains unresolved."

The Dark Lord let out a hissing breath. "The boy?"

Lucius nodded. "The boy is unreliable, Master."

"It was your task, Lucius," said the Dark Lord, "too see that he was not."

"We lost ground this summer," said Lucius. "It was unavoidable, considering the recent unpleasantness."

"Then regain that ground," said the Dark Lord tightly. "You have been in contact? Not just to tell him you are alive?"

"Yes. Almost constant contact. He is aware, although, of course, I have not told him everything."

"Do whatever you have to do, Lucius. He is your responsibility." The Dark Lord made a sudden movement, seizing the snake just below its head and squeezing tightly. When he released it, it lay limp, apparently dead.

Luciuséxpression darkened as Voldemort lifted the limp snake and dropped it into the cauldron. "You know what will happen if you do not succeed with this."

"He is a child, and children are unreliable," said Lucius. "A security risk. I told you that before when I did not want him involved."

There was a cold silence. Lucius paled slightly. At last the Dark Lord spoke. "Do not presume you know what is best, Lucius," he said softly. "I have taught you everything you know. But I have not taught you everything I know."

Lucius licked his dry lips. "Yes, Master. Of course."

There was a flicker of movement and the snakeś head appeared at the lip of the cauldron. It was not, apparently, dead after all. Voldemort held out his gloved hand, and the snake crawled onto it, ringing his wrist like a bracelet. "And has Wormtail sent word?"

"He is still gathering the materials, Master," said Lucius, speaking suddenly very quietly, so that Draco had to strain to hear, "He has not yet returned from — "

But it was no use. The words vanished into nothingness, and the vision followed. The room shut like a flower, the cauldron and the jeweled phials and the two standing men whirling away from him on a current of darkness, and Draco started upright, his heart racing and his eyes flying open to fix on -

Snapeś face. The Potions Master was staring at him in consternation.

"Malfoy! Whatś the matter with you?"

The room slowly swam into focus. Draco realized that he must have reeled backward into the wall. His shoulder hurt as if he had struck it hard, and his eyes burned. He could see the entire class staring at him in shock.

Harry had half-risen to his feet and Hermione and Ron were pulling him back into his chair. Hermione looked stricken with worry.

"Nothing." Draco pushed the professorś hands away. "I´m fine."

"Did something happen?" Snape pitched his voice low, so only Draco could hear it. "Did you see something?"

The serpent, the cauldron, the Dark Lord, the tower.

Draco shook his head. "No. I just got dizzy."

Snapeś eyes narrowed. "You saw nothing?"

Too late, Draco realized that he should have made something up. I should have said I dreamed I was a lemon floating in a giant gin and tonic.

Anything.

Silently, he shook his head. "No. Nothing."

"Very well." Draco could almost have sworn that Snape looked disappointed. Worried, even. "Go back to your seat, Mister Malfoy."

"Another letter from Monique?" Hermione said in a teasing voice, reaching over the table towards Ron who was looking expectantly up at the black owl perched on his left shoulder. Her name was Nefertiti and she had been a gift from his parents when they had learned that he had been made Head Boy.

(Pigwidgeon had gone to Ginny.) Now she pecked at his ear and dropped a letter into his hands: it was printed on lavish gold-and-white stationary and was heavily scented with jasmine.

"What can I say?" Ron unrolled the paper and examined it with a grin.

"Monique just can´t get enough of me."

"Oh, you´re just stringing her along," said Ginny with a smile, reaching past Ron to get at the pumpkin juice. "You´re not serious about her."

"There are some aspects of this relationship I'm very serious about," Ron said gravely.

"And she's got quite a Wonderbra supporting those aspects," said Hermione, with a sideways evil grin.

"I think sheś just after me for my money anyway," said Ron, who had set himself to the task of turning the unfortunate Moniqueś letter into a paper Firebolt.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Does she know there isn´t much?" she inquired. This was true. While the discovery of a cache of medieval magical treasures underneath the Burrow had made the Daily Prophet, the Weasleys had seen no profit from it, since the entire collection had been spirited away by the Aurorś College for purposes of study and research.

Of the whole treasure hoard, the only things they'd managed to keep were the Gryffindor Galleon that Ginny had given Harry for his birthday and a few pewter trinkets. And if they had expected an enormous windfall from Mr. Weasleyś appointment as Minister of Magic, they were disappointed there as well: few Ministry officials made a great deal of money, and the Minister was no exception, especially when he had seven children. The Weasleys remained what they had been since Fred and Georgeś joke shop had succeeded: pleasantly well off, but not by any means rich.

"Did you see this?" Hermione interrupted. Her owl had just delivered that dayś Daily Prophet, and her head was bent over it, her mouth turned down in concern. "Inquiry into Lucius Malfoyś death has been closed," she read out. "The Ministry has ruled the cause to have been suicide."

Ron looked disgusted. "It took the Ministry six months to figure out that he topped himself? Geniuses."

Harry shook his head. "He didn´t kill himself. Sirius said so."

"So he summoned up something nasty," said Ron. "And it ate him. Maybe he did it on purpose. Who knows? Me, I feel sorry for the something nasty.

Getting served a Malfoy for lunch would make anyone mad enough to blow things up."

"Ron, be nice," admonished Hermione.

Ron looked staggered. "About Lucius Malfoy?"

"Well, just — think how Draco must feel."

"Riiight," said Ron slowly. "Because he looks so upset."

Against her better judgement, Ginny looked over at the Slytherin table. As always, the action at that table revolved around Draco; he was inevitably its focal point. No longer flanked by Crabbe and Goyle (who had left school after pulling only one O.W.L. each) he was bookended instead by Dex Flint, the Slytherin Keeper, and Malcolm Baddock, a slender, dark-haired boy who had replaced Goyle as a Chaser. He was leaning over Blaise Zabini, his chin on her hair. On a ribbon around her throat glittered an amulet in the shape of a silver snake, a gift from Draco. Her brilliant red-gold hair spilled down over her shoulders.

Itś the red hair, Ginny remembered Draco telling her at Harryś birthday party, I can´t resist it.

Vaguely, Ginny heard Hermione say defensively, "Well, so, maybe heś hiding how unhappy he is."

Ron ignored her, and gently tugged at Ginnyś sleeve. "Don´t look over there," he said. "It´ll just upset you."

"I´m not upset." She dragged her eyes away from Draco and grabbed up her fork. "I´m fine." She jabbed the fork blindly at the plate in front of her, hardly able to see anything.