Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Gabriel stood up, dumping Rhysenn off his lap. She landed, barefoot, with a vexed look, and hurled herself irritably into a nearby armchair. "And what am I do to, exactly, when I get there?"

"The girl," said Voldemort. "Find the girl — "

"No!" Ron, surprising no one so much as himself, slammed his fist down on the table. It shook. Gabriel's half-empty goblet tipped over. A thread of thick red fluid seeped from it, onto the tabletop. "You leave her alone," he said, his voice sharp and carrying. "You touch her and I'll never divine anything for you again, never!"

The room fell instantly, deathly silent. Wormtail stared down the table at Ron, something approximating horror on his face. Rhysenn's expression was bleak, and the small goblins all appeared to be looking elsewhere.

Only Voldemort looked amused. "But, dear boy, I need that cup," he said.

"And she has it."

"I don't care." Ron's breath felt thick in his chest. "If you hurt her I'll never divine anything for you again. I'd rather die."

The Dark Lord templed his long thin fingers under his chin. "Very well," he said. "If you don't want her hurt…"

Ron's mouth fell open. "What?"

The Dark Lord turned to Gabriel, who stood poised by the table, his face half-hidden by his long black hair. "Bring her back alive," Voldemort said.

"And with the Cup."

The vampire bowed his head. "As you wish, Lord."

Voldemort stood up. For a moment he and Ron regarded each other from either end of the long table, Voldemort as tall and pale and unmoving as a pillar of bone. Ron felt his hands shaking and stuffed them into his pockets. He could feel Rhysenn staring at him, as if she were entreating him to do something, but he had no idea what.

When Voldemort finally spoke, his voice was almost without inflection.

"After all," he said, "I'll be bringing her here, little Diviner. You'll like that, won't you, seeing her again?"

Ron said nothing, only bit down into his lip.

"You could see the end of the world, my boy," said Voldemort in a voice that was at once so soft and so carrying that Ron felt sure that everyone had heard his words, and that at the same time Voldemort was speaking only to him. "But can you see yourself ever having what you want? It is not so impossible as you might think."

Ron cleared his throat. His chest still felt tight. "Just don't hurt her," he said.

"Indeed," Voldemort said. He turned to Gabriel. "You heard the boy," he said. "Bring her to me unharmed. Now, all of you — " and he waved his hand towards the crowded table, at which all the little goblins made an alarmed chattering noise and began hopping to their feet — "get out of my sight. Yes, you too, Wormtail. Rhysenn, you will remain, but inside your cage. And as for you, little Diviner," and at that, looking directly at Ron, he smiled, "I wish to play a game of chess. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," said Ron.

When Hermione walked into the kitchen she found Viktor sitting at the end of a long wooden trestle table. A single candle illuminated the gloom, throwing crazily tilting shadows against the walls and cupboards. He didn't look up when she let the door fall shut behind her, only pushed his straggling hair back, and muttered, "Ou sont les cigarettes?"

"Viktor," Hermione said, slightly uncomfortable. "It's me."

He looked up. His dark brows were drawn together over his deep-set black eyes and he was frowning. "Where are the others?" he asked.

"Fleur's looking after Draco. She said she'd be here in a minute."

Hermione pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Viktor. "I wanted to thank you for helping — "

"I have not helped you," Viktor interrupted. "I do not approve of you being here or of Fleur having told you Harry's whereabouts. I feel it is a betrayal of the trust he placed in both of us."

"I just want what's best for Harry," Hermione protested.

"And you are so sure you know what that is?" Bitterness laced Viktor's tone for a moment. "You always did think that you knew everything, Hermione. And of the fact that you are brilliant there is no doubt. But it is not given to any one person to know everything. Not even you."

"He can't do this alone," Hermione said in a small voice.

"He cannot do it at all, it is a task impossible," said Viktor, his grasp of English deserting him along with his grip on his temper. "He loves you -

he is in love with you — the least you could do is respect his wishes — "

Before Hermione could interrupt, the door swung open and Fleur came in, followed by Draco. Through the dimness, they were visible only as silhouettes; Fleur lifted her hand and gestured quickly, and light leapt up all around the room as the torches on the walls lit themselves to flame.

Hermione could see now that they sat in a pleasant, medium-sized kitchen. Stacks of clean dishes sat on the sideboard, and a small pantry was visible through a curtained archway.

"There," said Fleur, smiling. "Much better." She looked over her shoulder.

"Draco, sit down. I'll find us all something to eat."

Draco stepped out from behind her and went to take a chair; Hermione sucked her breath in as he sat down and smiled at her. There was bright color in his cheeks and he looked healthy, alive, almost normal. His mouth curled up at her flabbergasted expression and he leaned back in his chair. He had swapped his soot-covered jumper for a black-and-red Quidditch jersey that Hermione assumed belonged to Viktor. It was too big on Draco; the sleeves dangled down over his slender hands and the neck fell away from his delicate collarbone. She could see the collar of his own white t-shirt underneath. "Hermione, darling," he said, "you look as if you just caught Dumbledore administering a naughty spanking to a group of unruly fourth-year girls. Why so scandalized?"

"I'm not scandalized. It's just — you look good."

"Well, that's hardly headline news. I always look good."

"Don't be deliberately obtuse. I meant you look as if you're feeling better."

"Better is such a relative term," Draco murmured delicately, and leaned back as a loaf of bread Fleur was in the midst of Summoning flew past his head and landed on the table. It was followed by a wedge of white salted cheese, a pitcher of cold milk, a selection of plates, and a pack of Lucky Snitch! cigarettes for Viktor. "Thanks to Fleur, however — "

"Do be quiet, Draco, and eat," interrupted Fleur, taking the seat next to Viktor's. "Both of you."

Hermione fell to the food, trying not to eat too ravenously and make a spectacle of herself. Draco ate more slowly; food had never been something that interested him much. He pulled the bread apart with long careful fingers and dunked the crusts in his milk and then either ate them or swirled them around until they dissolved. Hermione forbore from telling him that this was disgusting. She was too busy being deathly curious. What had Fleur done? Surely she didn't — she couldn't have -

"I didn't have sex with Fleur, if that's what you're worried about," said Draco.

Hermione went scarlet. "Draco."

"There may have been some nudity," he said pensively. "But it was scientific and not recreational in nature."

Viktor looked enraged. Fleur put a hand on his arm. "You really can be terribly rude sometimes, Draco," she said with a frown.

"I can be terribly rude all the time," Draco said. "I happen to be restraining myself at the moment. You should be appreciative."

Viktor said something loudly to Fleur in what sounded like a sputtering mixture of Bulgarian and French. Fleur replied to him soothingly, her hand still on his arm. Draco took the opportunity to pinch one of Viktor's cigarettes, and used the candleflame to light it.

Hermione shot him a look. "You took off your clothes in front of her?