Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

— Elizabeth Bishop

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed in Fleur and Viktor's room, turning the silver antidote flask over and over in her fingers. She had managed to wake Draco up and get him to drink some of it before he'd sunk back into unconsciousness; Viktor had carried him to the bedroom, and laid him down on the bed before Fleur had shooed him out, muttering, "This is all your fault."

The bedroom was suffused with a soft, mellow light, a light that made Hermione think of warm autumn evenings and sleeping cats. The torches on the walls burned with a rosy, shaded glow and there were fine red openweave curtains all around the bed. The light that came through them was tinted and threw a deceptive, healthy flush across Draco's sleeping face.

"He's not getting any better," Hermione said, in a small dull voice. "I'd thought the antidote was going to fix things, but it hasn't. I just don't know what to do."

Fleur was sitting on the bed beside him, her head inclined. Her long hair spilled down and over her shoulders and veiled Draco's face behind a curtain of white silk. When she raised her head and looked at Hermione, her blue eyes were very dark. "Poison, you said?"

"Poison," Hermione confirmed.

Fleur put her slim fingers against the pulse in Draco's throat, her expression thoughtful. Hermione watched the two of them, so similar in looks, the torchlight burning up their pale hair. A matched set of fair-headed Flemish angels. Hermione had had plenty of occasion to watch Draco sleeping over the past few days, but the change in his face when he was not awake never failed to surprise her and catch at her heart. In sleep, all his malice was stripped away, all those carefully cultivated manners and graces, and he was just an ordinary boy, eyes blue-hollowed with tiredness, the soft pulse of his breath stirring the hair that fell across his cheek in uneven strands like pale unraveled thread.

"Is everything all right?" Hermione asked, concerned by Fleur's intent expression.

The other girl said nothing, only let the tips of her fingers glide down his throat to his collar. Hermione fought back the urge to protest, even when the older girl's hand slipped into the collar of Draco's shirt, and drew out the Epicyclical Charm on its chain. "So here it is," she said, her tone reflective. "I asked Harry what he had done with it, but he was so feverish…"

"He gave it back to Draco," Hermione said.

"Typical," said Fleur. "As if such a gift, once freely given, can so easily be given back." She let the charm fall and sat back, drawing the covers up absentmindedly over Draco as she did so. It struck Hermione as odd to see Fleur being so gentle, but then she remembered Fleur's little sister, and the fierce mothering possessiveness Fleur seemed to feel towards Gabrielle. "I watched over Harry like this," said Fleur, "just last night."

"Thank you for taking care of Harry," Hermione said. "And for telling us he was here. I know Viktor didn't want you to — "

"Viktor is honest to a fault," said Fleur. "But he did not sit with Harry while he was feverish; he did not hear him shouting out in his sleep for you…Both of you." Her blue eyes, tracing Hermione's face, looked nearly black. "I did not do it to be compassionate," she said. "I did it because Harry is our one chance against the Dark Lord, and if he does not accept that truth then I will accept it for him."

"I know he is," Hermione said. "But I also love him. I'm thankful that you took care of him, whatever your reasons. I know we haven't always gotten along — "

"True, we have not," Fleur admitted cheerfully. "You have always been jealous of any girl who came near the boys you love."

"Right, and then there was that whole business where you were evil,"

Hermione reminded her with some asperity.

Fleur had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "That is true," she said.

"And you tried to take over the world," Hermione added. "And nearly got Harry killed."

Fleur sighed. "What would you have me say, Hermione? I could speak as Draco might, in mannered phrases, I could say I have done a great wrong, and seek to undo it. But that would not bring back any of them, these boys you have lost to dreams and divination and death. It will not make your journey shorter or your pain less, or the road to Romania any less dangerous — "

"Romania?" Hermione interrupted. "Is that where Harry is going?" A sudden realization forced a squeak from her lungs. "That Romanian coin!

He must have taken it from the Manor! Oh, I'm a fool."

Fleur looked at her dryly. "You're an idiot all right." She looked down at Draco again. "If you wish to discuss Harry's destination, Viktor knows more about it than I do."

"As soon as Draco wakes up," Hermione began.

Fleur shook her head. "I would prefer it if you would go now. I would like a few moments alone with your Draco."

"He's not my Draco," Hermione said, although she hesitated. She didn't want to trust Fleur — she really didn't want to leave Fleur alone with Draco

— but Fleur had healed Harry and Viktor had helped him and she owed them both.

"I believe Viktor is in the kitchen," Fleur said. Her tone was dismissive and final. "It is where he usually goes to sulk."

Hermione looked again at Draco. "If you hurt him," she said, not looking at Fleur, "I'll kill you," and she walked out, closing the door carefully behind her.

Fleur looked after her, and then with a sigh, turned back to the boy in the bed. "Hurt you?" she said. "You have, I think, been hurt enough." She leaned over him, and her bright hair fell down around Draco like a veil and mixed with his own. He did not move, but, reaching out with her mind, she could feel his soft and steady breath, the beat of his heart, the course of blood in his fragile veins. I have done a great wrong and seek to undo it, she whispered against his cheek, and began to unbutton his shirt.

Voldemort did not look pleased — he never looked pleased — but a small, gratified hiss escaped through his teeth. "The cup," he said, "she has it, then? You are sure?"

"I'm half goblin," said Mortenson. "I am trained to recognize objects of worth."

"I must have that cup," said the Dark Lord. His gaze slid to Ron, and lingered on him meditatively. "I had trusted Lucius to procure it for me, but perhaps there is a more expedient plan…"

"My Lord," Wormtail put in eagerly, "I would be happy to — "

Voldemort waved a silencing hand. "Where are they now," he asked, "Lucius' son and the girl?"

"They spoke to someone named Viktor," said Mortenson, looking a little unsure, "and another girl, and there was some talk of an apartment in Prague…"

"That would be Viktor Krum," said Rhysenn. "He is the Seeker for Bulgaria's Quidditch team."

"And he does indeed have an apartment in the city center," Gabriel added. "We keep an eye on him. He's in the resistance, it is believed, although it has never been proven."

Voldemort's gaze flicked to the vampire. "Sunset is coming," he said.

"Gather your… people to you. How soon can you be in Prague?"

Gabriel looked mildly irritated. "It is a great distance, and it is too early for them to have fed, my Lord — "

"'Denn die Todten reiten schnell," said Voldemort, and smiled unpleasantly. "Or so I have heard."