Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

The library door had opened then, and Hermione had come in. She hadn't seen Harry at all, but had crossed the room to Draco and put her arms around him and kissed him, and he had accepted the kiss with the ease of long familiarity. Even in the dream, the nausea of jealousy had been a physical thing; Harry felt it now, like a knot in his stomach, and wondered what it meant. Old ghosts keeping you up? Hermione had asked, and Draco had smiled up at her, and said, Only the kind that come back too late.

A sharp pain in his hand made Harry jump; coffee had sloshed out over the rim of his cup and burnt his fingers. He set the cup down hastily on the polished surface on a small table and glanced towards the front of the shop. The late afternoon sun streamed through the tinted glass window and through it Harry could see the shadows of robed wizards hurrying by on the street outside. It could almost have been Diagon Alley, if not for the ornate gilt letters that he could still read, backwards, across the window: Malostranksa Kavarna. Harry wondered if he were just homesick for England, or sick with a more specific sort of longing.

No owls, Viktor had said, but he hadn't said anything about Harry not being allowed to write letters he had no intention of sending, or at least not today. Harry felt in his pocket for his self-inking quill, found it, and began looking, in a desultory fashion, for a bit of parchment to write on.

It was hours till sunset anyway, he told himself; he had plenty of time.

Draco landed lightly on his feet next to Hermione inside the circle of wavering flame. He turned to her, breathless, his eyes full of light and defiance. "Go ahead," he said. "Scream at me."

Before Hermione could say anything, Fleur stepped in between them.

"There will be no screaming," she snapped, holding her hands up imperiously. She was a slight girl, but taller than Hermione, and when she drew herself up to her full height, she was imposing. No longer panicked, Hermione had leisure to look at her: she was expensively attired in a clinging pastel dress, her pale hair brushed neatly behind her slightly pointed ears. Her blue eyes glowed as she flung her arms around Draco's neck and kissed him on both cheeks. Hermione rolled her eyes. Fleur's Draco-favoritism was so extreme as to be almost funny. "It is lovely to see you," Fleur declared. Hermione suspected this statement was not at all directed towards her. "You look different. Taller."

"Not likely. Perhaps I was standing in a hole last time we met."

Fleur smiled. "Do you like my dress?"

He drew back and regarded her at arm's length. "Tighter than a Parkinson's pocketbook and briefer than a Weasley's bedroom stamina," he drawled. "What's not to like?"

Fleur punched him affectionately on the shoulder. "You're such a tease."

Hermione made a vomiting noise.

Fleur turned and looked at her. "Did you say something?"

"No," said Hermione blandly.

"Viktor will be here any minute," Fleur said. Her little voice was coolly amused. "I'm sure he'll be very happy to see you, Hermione."

Hermione said nothing. Even now Fleur always managed to make her feel grubby. She slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans and let her gaze trail around the room. She had been here before, of course, the summer after fourth year. She remembered it as a sizeable, pleasant manor house, with a bit of a sprawling design and a lovely view of the sea. She had spent many pleasant hours in this study, despite the fact that all the books were in Bulgarian and she couldn't read them. Viktor had read out loud to her while she rested her bare feet on the firescreen. Of course, there had been no fire in the grate then, and now there was, not to mention the ash she and Draco had trailed all over the Turkish carpet.

"…won't be very pleased," Fleur was saying to Draco when Hermione snapped back to the present. "But I couldn't just leave you there all alone, now could I?"

Draco had disengaged himself from her embrace and was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, brushing soot off his sleeves. "No one can ever leave me alone," he said. "It is an unfortunate side effect of my devastating charm."

"Viktor's going to be awfully angry," Fleur said, sounding as if she were looking forward to it. "All he wanted was to come away quietly to the country and write his book. All this excitement…"

"Bother the excitement," Hermione said shortly. "I think we ought to talk about Harry."

The doorknob rattled.

"Viktor!" cried Fleur, theatrically.

"Ah," said Draco. "Something hulking and Bulgarian this way comes."

The door flew open. It was indeed Viktor, swathed in a red traveling cloak and looking livid with fury. His gaze swept from Draco to Hermione to light upon Fleur. "Qu'est que tu as fait?" he snarled.

"Speak English in front of the guests, dear," said Fleur. "They are uneducated."

"I told you not to bring them here!" Viktor shouted, as if Draco and Hermione weren't there. "I gave Harry my word!"

"I didn't," said Fleur.

"How Slytherin of you," Draco said approvingly.

"I should have known when you sent me away to have a private word, you were lying," Viktor went on, his black eyes snapping. "Fleur, you are — "

"My father always told me it was vulgar to call women names," Draco observed.

"Please do not address me," Viktor said coldly to Draco, although his eyes remained on his girlfriend. "This is between myself and Fleur."

"There is no point protesting now that they are here, you know," Fleur said, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you propose to do about it?"

"Send them back where they came from," Viktor snapped.

"It's on fire where we came from," Draco pointed out.

"You really have only yourself to blame for that," Hermione said.

Draco glared at her. "Whose side are you on?"

"Be quiet, all of you!" Fleur cried suddenly. Even Hermione had to admit that Fleur was magnificent in a rage. Her silver hair flew and her face sharpened, echoing her veela ancestry. "Viktor, you have absolutely no right to send them away! They have come a great distance, seeking their friend — "

"Who has no wish to see them," Viktor grated. "I gave my word, Fleur. The word of a Krum is not given lightly."

"I won't let you do this," Fleur protested furiously. "I forbid it!"

Vitkor's craggy brows drew together, shadowing his deep-set eyes. "And you plan to do what about it?"

"You could withhold sexual favors," Draco suggested. He was still leaning back against the wall as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"That will just make him angry," Fleur replied, eyeing Viktor with scorn.

"True," Draco said. "I've been withholding sexual favors from him for years and look how angry he is at me."

Viktor gave him a withering look. "I told you not to talk to me."

"You didn't say I couldn't talk about you," Draco pointed out. He smiled with feline satisfaction. "God, I love technicalities. They give me a warm, tingly feeling right in my — "

"I've got it!" Fleur crowed.

Everyone looked over at her in surprise. While Draco and Viktor had been arguing, she had slipped behind Viktor's desk and was holding up a handful of parchment.

Viktor let loose an anguished cry. "My book!"

"Oh, Viktor, you finally wrote your book!" Hermione cried. "I'm so proud of you!"

"It is almost five hundred pages," said Viktor distractedly, staring at Fleur, who was holding the manuscript above her head and looking determined.

"It is a painstakingly researched account of the rise of the Resistance movement in the Bulgarian countryside."

"Well, that sounds like a bestseller," Draco observed. "Right up there with

'Harry Potter's Guide to Hairstyles' and 'Arthur Weasley's Big Little Book of Birth Control.'"