Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

He paused, staring at himself. The dark blue cloak brought out the color of his eyes and hair, and the boots made him look even taller. Of course his ears still stuck out, but thanks to the cut of the clothes, the rest of him looked — well, elegant, not so much skinny as slender. Even his posture was better. He had never understood why Draco spent so much money on clothes, but it was beginning to make sense. If they could make you look like this — maybe Draco wasn't all that attractive after all, Ron mused, maybe it was all attitude and a really good tailor. He leaned against the back of a nearby chair, gazing at himself through lowered eyelids, then frowned. Draping himself seductively over furniture and sneering did not have the effect of making him look like Draco; it had the effect of making him look like an enormous prat. It appeared that what worked on a willowy blond aristocrat with languid eyes and a voice that sounded like Galleons clinking together did not work on the red-headed son of a minor public official from Ottery St. Catchpole.

A soft chuckle made him turn around. He was not at all surprised to see Rhysenn standing behind him, twirling a ribbon from her corset in between her long fingers. "You like how you look?" she asked.

"I look all right," said Ron.

She took another step closer to him. She swayed when she walked, he had noticed it before, as if her tendons were made of elastic. The candlelight threw a shining net over her black hair and her skin glowed through her thin clothes. Ron half-closed his eyes. "Don't," he said. "I know what you're trying to do."

'I just want you to help me pick out what I should wear," she said, her low voice vibrating through his bones.

"I don't care what you wear."

'I'm sure I could change into something you'd like," she said, and there was something different about her voice now. Ron opened his eyes and started and stepped back, almost stumbling into the mirror.

Hermione stood in front of him, in her school blazer and short skirt, her hair escaping from a black velvet ribbon. "Ron," she said, her voice familiar and a little uncertain. She took a step towards him. "It was always you, really, that I loved," she said, and her dark eyes searched for his, held them. A delicate flush stained her pale cheeks. "I just never realized it before…"

"Stop," Ron said, his voice uneven.

Hermione laughed, and shook out her hair from its ribbon. It spilled bright silver over her shoulders and suddenly she was Fleur, all moonlight skin and diaphanous robes and the first girl he had ever thought was beautiful. "Ron," she said throatily. "I should never have said no to you when you asked me to the ball," and she drew the material of her robes tightly around her. "Let me make it up to you…"

"Quit it, Rhysenn," Ron snapped. "You can't get to me this way."

She smiled again and pushed her hair back and straightened up, and suddenly she was Draco, in his Slytherin Quidditch robes, looking cool and expensive and scornful and very, very blond.

'Yeeaaargh," said Ron, almost knocking the mirror over in his haste to scramble backwards. "Okay, now you're really barking up the wrong tree, you do know that?"

'There are ways and ways to seduce someone," Draco said to him, with Rhysenn's smile. "You can hit me, if you like, now. Call me names, cough up all those clever retorts you thought up five minutes too late to use them because I was already walking away. You hate me, Weasley. You know you do."

"Stop it, Rhysenn," Ron said, his voice sharp and dangerous.

'Or what?" Draco tipped his head back, and Ron had to marvel at the perfection of the imitation, the accuracy of the insouciant posture, the cool disdainful smile. Although he had really liked the fake Hermione a great deal better.

'Or I'll tell you your future," Ron said.

Draco gave a sharp little intake of breath at that, his pale cheeks flushing, and the illusion was broken. With a toss of hair Rhysenn was herself again, only the gray eyes the same, and murderous. "Don't you dare," she said.

'Don't try to seduce me then," Ron said.

'It might be all the comfort you get," she said, "false comfort is better than none."

"I don't want it," he said.

She gave him a look. It was an angry look, but there was something else under it, as well. Grudging respect. "No illusions then," she said.

"None," said Ron.

"Very well," she said, and swept out of the room. She paused in the corridor outside, waiting, and after a moment he followed her.

"Viktor," Hermione whispered. "Viktor, please…"

Viktor sounded pained. "I have not seen him, Hermione. I am sorry."

There was a rustle, and Draco dropped to his knees beside her. Hermione cut her eyes sideways. She could see his face in silhouette, outlined sharply by the firelight. Because his features were so sharp and his mouth so unusually shaped, he had a very distinctive profile. "Why is it," he said, staring at Viktor, "that every time we meet, you're telling lies about the whereabouts of a friend of mine? Keep it up, Krum, and I'm going to start to think that you have something personally against me."

"I have nothing against you," Viktor said, recovering quickly from what had looked like surprise at seeing Draco. "But I cannot tell you where Harry is."

"You mean you won't." Draco's hands were open on his knees, his fingers relaxed, but Hermione could hear the tension in his voice. "Are you quite sure that's wise?"

Viktor glowered even more heavily. "Are you threatening me?"

"Maybe," Draco said.

"With what, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," Draco admitted. "I thought it would be more effective if I kept it vague."

"It is not effective," said Viktor somberly. "For the last time, I cannot help

— "

He broke off, looking suddenly alarmed. The sound that had reminded Hermione of crackling telephone static returned, louder than before. His head whipped around as if he were suddenly aware of a presence behind him; his mouth began to form words, and then, with a flailing yelp, he vanished, jerked downwards as if by some invisible, inexorable force.

"Crikey," said Draco into the silence which followed Viktor's abrupt disappearance. "Looks like your erstwhile Bulgarian suitor got himself eaten by a shark. The mind boggles."

"Oh dear," Hermione said, but before she could get really worried, there was another explosion of movement inside the fireplace, and a head replaced Viktor's. A familiar waterfall of silver-blonde hair, enormous blue eyes, and full red lips stretched into a superior smile shone out from the flames. "Fleur?" Hermione exclaimed. "What are you — "

But Fleur was staring right past her, at Draco, her eyes sparkling. "Draco!"

she shrieked. "Draco, mon petit! I have missed you so very very much!"

Draco sat back on his heels, his mouth twitching into a grin. Fleur had much the same effect on boys that Draco had on girls, and no one with Draco's vanity could fail to be moved by Fleur's enthusiastic admiration.

"Hello, Fleur," he said. "How's that house I bought for you working out?"

"It is lovely," she enthused. "Viktor and I enjoy visiting it very much."

"Viktor? You're living with Viktor?" Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"Do not be insulting," said Fleur breezily. "Our love is pure."

"You love is mercenary," said Draco. "You're either using him for his money or his fame, woman. Certainly you can't be in for his looks. It's the whole professional Quidditch thing isn't it? Wait till all the guys find out you can get laid just for owning a stripy jumper and a pair of regulation undershorts and they'll all want to be on a team."

"You're on a team," Hermione said darkly, feeling ignored.

"I don't need the help getting laid," Draco said. "Or the regulation undershorts. They bunch up and spoil the line of your trousers." He examined his nails. "I usually wear nothing under my Quidditch cords."