Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"It's not just Harry who's famous anymore," Hermione said now.

Draco cut his eyes away from her. He always did that when she talked about Harry. Hermione said nothing; just stirred the antidote and looked at him. His black pullover jumper was slightly too big for him. He had dragged the sleeves down over his hands so only the tips of his fingers were visible. Wisps of curling white-blond hair poked out from beneath the drawn-up hood. He bit his lip.

"Fine," he said. "Pick a name for me."

"Something that sounds like your name, so you'll respond to it,"

Hermione said thoughtfully. "Drake?"

Draco's head came up and gray eyes flashed at her from beneath the hood. "Call me that and I'll kill you," he said.

Hermione grinned at him. "No?"

"I don't like nicknames," he said succinctly. "You might as well go around calling me 'muffin' or 'boo-bear'.'"

"Now there's an idea."

"If rule 413 of the Malfoy Family Code of Conduct didn't proscribe me from violence against females, Granger, you'd be wearing that pot you're stirring on your head."

"Hmph," said Hermione. "Hold my spoon while I drain."

She handed him the long-handled spoon and he held it, looking mutinous, while she drained half the mixture she'd made into a smaller mixing bowl and emptied a small packet of vert powder into it. She grabbed the spoon back and began stirring furiously. This part of the procedure had to be done quickly or the antidote would be ruined.

"I think we should come up with a name for you," said Draco, leaning back on his hands. "Something classy. Trixie LaBouche? Boobs McChesty?"

"I'm not the one who needs a fake name and if I did, I wouldn't want to go around sounding like a porn star," protested Hermione, half out of breath from stirring.

"I always rather fancied that if I grew up to be a porn star, I would rename myself Baron Hotcock von Hugenstein," said Draco in a mock-wistful tone.

Hermione choked. "You wanted to be a porn star?"

"Doesn't everyone?" said Draco.

Hermione tried to imagine Harry wanting to be a porn star, and failed utterly. She bit back a giggle as she put her spoon down — the antidote was done. "Well, it's not very accurate," she said, pouring some of the mixture into a glass.

Draco looked affronted. "How would you know?"

"I just meant," she said, putting the glass into his hand, "that you're not a Baron."

He looked at her suspiciously.

"Drink your antidote," she said.

He half-closed his eyes and drank it. It took three swallows, and then he choked and dropped the glass and shut his eyes tightly, his hand pressed to his head. Shudders racked his body. Alarmed, Hermione grabbed at his hands, pulling them down — for a moment, his fingers wrapped her wrists and gripped them with bone-crushing force — then he released her and sat back, gasping and white-faced. Bright spots of dark red fever burned on his cheekbones.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, yes, terrific." Draco's tone was acidic.

The emtpy glass had fallen to the counter. Hermione picked it up and began rinsing it in the sink, biting back a response. She had no idea what to say really anyway. Snape had told her that Draco's reaction to the antidote would keep getting worse. If it got any worse than it already was she had no idea how she would deal with it.

"Draco…" she began, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

Before she could go on, a tapping sound came from the window. It sounded like an owl's beak. Wondering if it was perhaps a reply to their Gringotts inquiry, Hermione went across the room and drew the curtains back. It was an owl. She unlatched the window and the bird flew inside, shaking snow from its feathers. It flew directly across the room to Draco and dropped a rolled bit of parchment into his lap. It then hung about, keening softly, until Draco took a Sickle from his pocket and held it out; the bird snapped up the silver piece and flew out through the window.

Hermione closed the window behind the owl, latched it, and started back across the room towards Draco. He was staring down at the unopened letter in his lap. When he finally raised his head and looked up at her she was shocked to see that he had gone bone-white.

"It's from Harry," he said.

The wizard decided to follow his wife the next time she left the castle. He did not have long to wait. She had a habit of walking in the woods, alone, at night, and the next time she set forth upon one of her solitary journeys, he wrapped himself in his Invisibility Cloak and followed her.

Cloaked in darkness, she made her way to the heart of the forest, clutching a witch-light lantern to guide her way. At the center of the forest was a clearing, and she stepped into that clearing and called out in a voice that made him shiver. And from the shadows between the rocks and the spaces between the trees evolved a host of other shapes. Other women, like his wife, all with their dark, dark hair and dark-burning eyes and all beautiful. And the wizard sank back against the tree and stared at them.

They came together, these women, and greeted each other like sisters, and then they sat together in a circle and discussed their situations. Each, it seemed, was a succubus, and each had recently married a mortal man at the behest of the greater demon they served. Each complained bitterly and intently of the boredom of these marriages, of the inadequacy of their human husbands, how loathsome they found them, how hideous compared to demon-kind. And as he listened to this the wizard felt his heart grow cold and shrivel inside him until he wondered that the blood still moved inside his veins.

The demonesses then waxed philosophical. It seemed that their term of servitude was coming to an end. They had been ordered to marry these men that they might bear offspring, offspring who would be half demon and half human, with all the strengths of each species and none of the weaknesses. Demon children who could walk abroad in sunlight and bear the touch of gold. Humans who would be immortal. The demonesses had minimal interest in this goal, but seemed to look forward to a time when they were free of their marriages and could return to their lives as succubi, seducing human men and draining them of their lives and powers.

"I shall look forward to murdering my husband when I go," said the wizard's wife in a reflective manner. "I plan to drain him of his life slowly while he spasms in my arms."

At that the wizard was hard pressed to restrain himself from drawing his wand and damning the consequences. Only the knowledge that a Killing Curse could not work upon a demon kept him in his hiding place. He remained there while the demonesses laughed together about the murders they planned to commit, and remained there while they kissed each other in farewell and slipped away from the clearing, each returning confidently to a besotted and unsuspecting spouse. He remained there while the night waned into pallor and the sun rose over the forest, and when the day had broken, his heart had shrunk to the size of a splinter of glass and all his thoughts were thoughts of vengeance.

And now you really are shivering. Give me your hands, let me put them inside my cloak. There is no need to blush. It is easy enough for me to keep you warm when I cannot, myself, feel the cold.

"This book," said Ben, when Ginny, who had left in search of food, came back into her bedroom with a plate of sandwiches, "is full of historical inaccuracies."

Ginny blinked and set the sandwiches down on the bed. Ben was sitting on the desk, Gareth next to him, reading Passionate Trousers. The dark head and the light, bent together as they read, made her think of Harry and Draco. "I can't believe you're reading that," she said.