Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Draco knew that, too, and for a moment their eyes met in perfect, if not amicable, understanding.

"Fine," he said.

She followed him under the shadow of the awning; Hermione, her mittened hands in her pockets, waited for them by the edge of the pavement. Blaise restrained herself from shooting Hermione a triumphant look.

A brass handrail ran down the middle of the staircase. Blaise leaned up against it and turned to Draco. He was staring at her with an unnerving fierceness in his eyes. He put his hand out and caught at her wrist and his gloved hand was cool against her skin. "What about Harry?" he demanded.

She took a deep breath. "It's not about Harry, it's about you."

He went still all over. Then he flung her wrist aside with surprising force.

"Why did you lie?"

Blaise braced her hands on the rail behind her. "Because it was the only way I could get you to listen to me — all you care about is Harry."

"That's not true." His voice cut like a whip coming down on her bare skin.

It took force of will not to flinch away. "If you've got nothing to say to me-"

"I didn't say that. Just because I've got nothing to say about Harry doesn't mean I've got nothing to say!"

"So you have something to say that doesn't have anything to do with boys, hair or cosmetic charms? It's a bloody fucking first, then. Call out the Prophet reporters, it's a red letter day. Let's make the most of it."

Blaise blinked. This was unprecedentedly vicious, even for Draco. For a moment all she wanted to do was slap his face and walk away — leave him to whatever the Slytherins had planned for him. But she couldn't. She loved him, she thought, the way he had once hated Harry — with bitter resentment. Why did it have to be him, of all people; there was nothing special or interesting or different about falling in love with the best-looking boy in school, who was also rich, who was also popular, who was also captain of the Quidditch team. It was predictable and stupid. And she had done it just the same.

"Spit it out, Zabini." Draco swung his arm up and shot a glare at the watch on his wrist. "You have fifty seconds."

"Draco-"

"Now you have forty-seven seconds."

Blaise bit back her wrath. "Your life's in danger," she said.

This did not have the effect she was expecting. For a moment, Draco stared at her. Then he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he had to lean against one of the awning poles.

Blaise narrowed her eyes. "I'm not joking."

Draco was still laughing. "I know — you're not," he got out, between gasps.

"It's just — the look on your face. So concerned. You're worried about me -

that's awfully cute."

"It is not cute! You're an idiot, Draco Malfoy, and if you don't listen to me then you're going to be a very dead idiot. And I won't be sorry, either."

"No — " he gasped out. "No, you wouldn't be. You always — looked good in black." His laughter had turned into a coughing spasm. He leaned back against the awning pole, catching his breath. "You know," he said, "I have to congratulate you on your delivery, there. It's not often you get a chance to go up to someone and tell them 'Your life's in danger.' It's right up there with 'follow that flying carpet.'"

Blaise stared in bewilderment. "You've lost your mind," she said.

"Among other things." He had sobered now. She was glad. She had not liked that brittle laughter at all. "Blaise," he said. "Blaise, darling — angel -

you're wasting your time."

"Don't," she said. He had always showered endearments on her, especially in public — baby, angel, darling, sweetest — always with a sarcastic edge that left her feeling somehow abused. "I suppose you already know, then.

I don't see how — Pansy said you didn't. But there's no need to make me feel like more of a fool than I do."

Her words had an odd effect on him. The faint smirk went from his face and his eyes narrowed. "Pansy?" he said. "Interesting. Perhaps you'd best explain after all."

Hesitantly at first, she explained what she knew: about the protective charms they had all been given, all the children of those who were still part of the Dark Lord's circle. Barrettes in some cases, earrings, buttons -

each containing a bit of enchanted basilisk scale or skin. How Pansy had asked for an extra set of protective charms and been refused, and what Blaise suspected her of doing to remedy that lack. What Pansy had said when Blaise had gone to her, and how Blaise now knew for certain that Pansy would not stop at hurting Draco if it seemed necessary, and how Blaise had gone to Marcus afterward and he had explained, rather reluctantly but more thoroughly, what was in store.

That she had panicked subsequently and become quite abusive towards Marcus, she left out.

When she was done, Draco did not look grateful for the news. He did not look anything except, possibly, slightly interested. "So if I'm not poisoned to death by Monday, Voldemort's death squad is going to off me along with everyone else on Tuesday," he remarked. "Relatively speaking, of course."

"I don't know what you mean about being poisoned," Blaise said. "But you don't seem terribly afraid of dying."

"I am," he said. "Horribly. But — it's rather freeing, this imminent death business. It creates a strangely consequence-free environment. One feels one could run through the Great Hall wearing only a pair of luminous shorts and shouting that Professor McGonagall has a shady relationship with the giant squid, and you wouldn't even get detention. Not that I'm planning to of course, and did you say that Pansy was the one who shot me with that arrow? Pansy?"

"That's what she said," said Blaise.

"And how much of this did you know before?" he demanded.

Blaise slid her eyes away from his. "Just a bit of what Pansy was up to."

"And you never told me." His lip curled at the corner. "And here I thought you loved me."

Blaise gaped at him in mingled consternation and fury. She had always wondered — half-hoped, half-hoped not — if he knew how she felt about him. She had assumed he didn't. That he did know was infuriating to her.

The fragile tether of her patience snapped, and she drew herself upright in a rage: "Loved you?" she spat out. "Of course I loved you. But just because you love someone doesn't mean you don't see what they are — and how they feel about you. You never loved me back."

"No," he said. "I didn't."

"You see, then," she said. "Maybe I wanted you punished. Maybe I hated you a little bit for not loving me enough or properly — haven't you ever felt that way, haven't you ever loved anyone who didn't love you? If you haven't then you don't know how it feels. It's not as if there weren't things you didn't tell me."

Draco had gone quiet, the sort of quietness that was like a yell or an interruption. He looked away from her.

Blaise sighed, feeling defeated. "You hate being blamed for anything," she said, in a bitter tone. "How could I forget that?"

"It's not that," he said. He looked at her and she had the feeling that for the first time he actually saw her. "It's just that it never occurred to me before that what I did to you was wrong. I'm sorry about that."

For a moment she could not react. Part of her did not want to accept his apology. It seemed too little a thing in the face of how much he had made her love him and how angry she still was. On the other hand she had to accept that perhaps he had not made her love him. She had decided to love him, because he had saved her, because he was beautiful, because she was restless and wanted something and he seemed like a solution.

He said, "Would you be willing to help my friends as well?"

She raised her chin. "Don't insult me," she said. "I already have helped them."

He nodded. "True, so I know you know where the Burrow is. Can you go back?"