Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

He shook his head. "Not that I know of. Why, is it not that way for Harry?"

She shook her head. "No, he can take it off."

"Hmm." Gareth looked thoughtful. "Well, that could be because it was made with some of the same blood that — "

"I can't believe it just ended there!" Ben interrupted, throwing the book into the air. "I mean, she doesn't even realize that Tristan isn't actually Tristan, but is in reality Tristan's evil twin brother Sebastian, and Tristan himself has been taken prisoner by the evil Duke Scorpio — "

"That's why it has a sequel, Ben," Ginny pointed out. "Although, admittedly, you'll have to wait a thousand years for it to come out."

Gareth jumped up from the floor. "Meanwhile, we've been here for four hours, and I'm hungry again. Benjamin, can we head home?"

Ben got off the bed and put his arms around Gareth and hugged him hard. "If you want to go, we can go."

Gareth just turned his face into Ben's shoulder, and smiled. They stood like that for a moment, and then they drew apart.

Ginny looked up at them from the floor, and tugged thoughtfully on a braid. "You probably had better go," she said. "I wouldn't put it past my mother to come back and break the door down if she sees my light's still on. But thank you — for coming, and for the flower, and everything."

Gareth said something noncommittal, nodded at her, and, freeing himself from Ben's embrace, went to the window. He smiled at Ben. "I'll see you down in the garden," he said, and clambered back over the sill, dropping into the darkness outside.

Ginny looked up at Ben. "Can't you just leave from here?"

"Our swords are downstairs. It's rude to bring edged weapons into someone else's house. Didn't you know that?"

Ginny shook her head. "Must have slipped Mum's mind when she was teaching me manners."

He reached out and touched her hair, and said something in the same language he had spoken to Gareth in earlier, that was soft and sweet-sounding and that she did not understand. Then he dropped his hand.

"You will see me again," he said, "but if I do not see you, then take care for yourself, and be well."

"I will," she said, and watched him walk away, and he was almost gone when she spoke again. "Ben!" she called, and he turned at the window and looked at her. In the shadows, with the light behind him, she could see only the set of his shoulders and the outline of his black hair, and it was as if she looked at a vision of what Harry would be in ten years. If he lived ten more years.

"Yes?" he said.

"Why didn't you want Gareth to see my Founders book?" she asked. "You looked so angry. Is there something in it?"

Ben sighed. "Of course there's something in it," he said. "History."

"You mean if you knew what was going to happen to you it might create a time paradox…?"

"Oh, sod time paradoxes," Ben said sharply. "I don't want to know when he dies, all right? I don't want to know when I die either, but Gareth — he's never careful — " Ben paused. "I know if it was you," he said, "you'd want to know. It seems like you can't bear not having the truth…"

"I've been lied to so much, you see," Ginny said, but it didn't seem like he was listening. Perhaps he already knew, or understood.

"And truth is a beautiful thing," he said. "In principle. But it's also an unyielding thing. And the truth between two people always cuts two ways.

Maybe I'd find out that we'll live and grow old together and maybe that would make me happy. Or maybe I'll spend the rest of my life waiting for him to die because I'll know what day it'll be. You can have too much truth, Ginny."

She nodded. The feeling of sadness had come back, worse than ever. "I know you're right," she said. "And I'm glad I'll see you again."

He smiled. "I might not be too happy to see you at first," he said. "Don't take it personally," and with that he was gone, flipping himself over the windowsill and vanishing into the night as if he had never been there at all.

Mr. Blackthorpe and the security trolls couldn't bundle Draco and Hermione out of the room with the dead girl in it fast enough. "To my office," the incubus manager snapped, glaring at them both as if the dead girl was their fault. "Now."

Draco considered briefly insisting that they be allowed to stay in the room, but he could tell from Blackthorpe's manner that he had reached the end of his patience. Any more requests, Draco was fairly sure, and his father would be called in. As a matter of fact, his father would probably be called in anyway. It looked like the time to use Hermione's Portkey might well be at hand — a very unwelcome thought, since they had not yet found Harry.

Hermione's hand on his arm startled him out of his reverie. He glanced down at her. She was pale, unhappy-looking, but composed. He slowed his walk slightly, so that they dropped behind the rest of the group.

Blackthorpe, in whispered and slightly hysterical-looking conference with the hulking security trolls, didn't notice. "Hermione, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she whispered back. "But I'm worried about you. You're two hours past the time you should have taken the antidote again. We have to get back."

"I feel fine," he said. His heart had quickened inside his chest. If the antidote was really wearing off, he could try — it might not work, but at least he could try -

She dropped her hand from his arm. "I could Portkey us — "

"No," Draco said. He moved away from her a little bit, not much, but he caught her hurt look. He dismissed it and willed his mind blank. It was hard, concentrating like this and also managing not to walk into a wall, but years of fencing practice had given him a better than decent ability to concentrate under adverse circumstances. Trailing one hand along the wall for guidance, he thought as hard as he could of nothing: in his mind, he was suddenly wandering in shadows, turning to seek out the barest sliver of light. A whispering din surrounded him, like the dry muttering of the ghosts in the Gray Places. He listened hard -

A sharp pain, in his hand. He'd cut his finger. It hurt. "Ouch. Stupid bloody padlock. Twisted the blade. Have to use another — Sirius would laugh if he — "

"Draco!" Hermione's voice sharp in his ear, snapping him back to the present. "Are you all right?"

He turned on her, furious. "I said I was fine!"

She bit her lip. "You don't look fine."

He glanced ahead. Blackthorpe was still enmeshed in conference with his guards. They seemed absorbed. Draco turned on Hermione, "I'm going," he said. "Stall them as long as you can in his office. Tell them — tell them I ran off to check out a suspicious noise. Tell them whatever you want."

Hermione's hand shot out to grab his sleeve, her voice a startled whisper.

"But I'm not supposed to speak — "

But he was gone, spinning on his heel and running back down the corridor. He raced around the nearest turn and slowed his pace: his chest hurt, just a little bit. If he had the antidote -

But the antidote blocked his ability to find Harry. Who was nearby, Draco could feel it. He leaned heavily on a chair propped against the wall (black laquer and walnut wood, with carved inlays — probably Louis XV and doubtless expensive) and tried to blank his mind again. It was easier this time. He remembered, eight months ago in Malfoy Manor, thinking that the connection between himself and Harry was like a thin cold unspooling between them as they walked away from each other. And it was still there: faint and barely tangible, as if he followed a cord made of nothing more substantial than dust motes.