Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"Everyone's afraid of the future," Ron muttered, glaring down at the chess board on the table in front of him. He was actually on his fifth game with Voldemort, having been roundly trounced the first four times due to lack of concentration. The truth was, he really didn't want to have another vision — he was terrified what he might see — and he couldn't help panicking over Hermione, and Harry by extension.

He was not panicked about Draco. Draco could take care of his own bloody self.

Voldemort's eyes had begun to narrow in suspicion by the middle of the fifth game. Luckily, Wormtail had arrived in a state of agitation and fetched the Dark Lord out of the room. Ron stared moodily at the chessboard, and wondered if there would be any point in cheating while Voldemort was away, and if anyone would be likely to notice or care if he did.

"Not everyone is afraid of the future," Rhysenn said. "Only people with something to lose."

"And I have something to lose?"

"You're in love," she said. "Everyone in love has something to lose."

"Well, then everyone has something to lose, don't they? Everyone loves someone. Even Malfoy has feelings. Icky feelings, but feelings."

"You are more like him in feeling than you think," Rhysenn said, tucking her hair back behind her ears. Ron looked away hastily. She was nearly naked again. He did wish she would warn him when she did that.

"I'm not like Malfoy."

"You are," she said. "To love where love is not requited is painful, but to love where you have no right to love — that is pain that cannot be articulated, perhaps not even understood unless you have felt it."

"Everyone's got a right to love," muttered Ron, who still felt uncomfortable around this sort of talk. "And I'm not in love, anyway. If Malfoy is, that's his lookout, although I'd rather not speculate because eeew."

Rhysenn looked amused. "And I suppose if it were up to you — " she began, then broke off hastily as the enormous double doors to the chess room slammed open and Voldemort strode inside, Gabriel the vampire on his heels.

Both Ron and Rhysenn flinched — the Dark Lord looked furious.

"What do you mean, you could not approach him?" Voldemort roared in a voice like a hissing bonfire. His black and scarlet robe flew out behind him as he spun to glare at the vampire who followed, white-faced and sullen, on his heels. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I mean I could not approach him," replied Gabriel, his voice strained. He looked less flushed and human now, more pale and strained and nervous.

His lips were drawn back tightly against his teeth and Ron could see the outline of his fangs. Ron remembered Lupin saying that vampires took on a waxy appearance when it had been a long time since they had fed, and shivered. Fortunately, as usual, no one was paying any attention to him.

He sat with his elbows propped on the table, trying not to knock over the chess pieces, and stared. "You didn't even tell us he would be there. I was expecting the girl — "

Voldemort waved this objection away. "And you could not get by him?

Did he use strong magic on you, was he hung about with crucifixes?"

"He was hung about with the Malfoy boy," said Gabriel, his lip curling, "but that was not the impediment."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "The Malfoy boy. Isn't he dead yet?"

"He looked quite alive to me," said Gabriel.

"I was speaking figuratively. I know he is alive. I have a certain amount…invested in him. I was rather hoping he'd manage to not die until after the ceremony, although Lucius' over-zealousness may force me to formulate a new plan. In any case, the Potter boy — "

"He has some charm on his person," said Gabriel. "It seems some form of runic band. It is endowed with powerful anti-demonic spells. I cannot approach it."

"Perhaps you should have tried a bit harder."

"I could not," Gabriel said, with emphasis, "and I know none who could.

You will have to find some other way to retrieve what you want."

"I could send Wormtail," Voldemort muttered under his breath, "but he is weak and stupid." His head snapped up and he looked at Gabriel, his eyes gleaming unpleasantly. "Lend me your human servants," he said.

"But they are my servants! They obey me."

"And you," said Voldemort, "obey me."

Ron remembered what he'd learned in DADA about ancient vampires holding the ability to hypnotize humans with their gaze. If Gabriel was trying that on Voldemort, it was failing miserably. The short battle of wills between the two ended as something seemed to crumple behind Gabriel's eyes, "Very well, my Lord."

"Remember what the girl carries," said Voldemort. "Make sure they know it is to be brought back with her. They can touch silver?"

"Yes, my Lord." Gabriel's eyes slid, then, to Ron. "Master…that boy there."

"Yes?" Voldemort said.

"Could I feed on him?"

Ron pushed his chair back so quickly that it scratched the marble. "Don't even think about it, fang-face."

"My Diviner? Certainly not," Voldemort said. "I need him alive."

The vampire licked his lips, gazing at Ron with low-burning eyes. "I could take just a little and leave him alive," he murmured.

"No," Voldemort said, more sharply. "You cannot have any of his blood.

Come now." He snapped his fingers. "Time grows short. If you must have blood, you can feed upon Wormtail before you go."

Gabriel made a face. "He tastes of onions," he complained.

"The Muggles have an apt aphorism about beggars and choosers, Gabriel, that you would do well to learn from. Now come," and Voldemort swept from the room, the vampire at his heels.

The moment the door closed behind them, Ron turned to Rhysenn, who had been silent throughout the interview inside her cage. She met his gaze with a pair of dark gray eyes but said nothing. "What does he mean, human servants? What was all that about?"

"If a vampire bites you but doesn't drain your blood, it gives him a certain amount of power over you. A bit like the Imperius Curse. A real master vampire could command an army of human servants. They're still humans, though, so Harry's demonic protection spell won't help him."

"Harry has a demonic protection spell?"

"He has a runic band," said Rhysenn. "He wears it on his belt."

Ron narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "You knew that," he said. "And you didn't say anything?"

Rhysenn examined her nails.

"Harry's with Hermione," Ron said, thinking aloud. "I thought Wormtail's spy said earlier that she was just with Draco?"

Rhysenn looked bored. "One of these days I will understand what the enormous fuss is over that girl. She isn't even pretty."

Ron ignored this. "The human servants — do you think he'll remember to tell them not to hurt her? Should I — "

"They'll do whatever they're told," said Rhysenn, rather shortly. "And the Dark Lord told Gabriel that she isn't to be hurt."

"He also told him not to feed on me," Ron said. "Why? What does he care if I get bitten?"

Rhysenn looked almost surprised. "Because he needs your blood himself," she said. "Didn't you know?"

Harry didn't move as Hermione approached the bed — she supposed he really couldn't move very far, after all. Draco had secured his wrists tightly to each side of the headboard. It looked likely to be a fairly uncomfortable position, if not actually painful. He raised his head as she came near the bed and sat down facing him. A deep blue-black bruise flowered out from the welt just above his right eye.

"Does it hurt?" Hermione said, fighting the urge to reach and touch his face.

"Yes," Harry said. There was tension in the set of his mouth and his tone was guarded. "Hermione, could you-"

"Of course."

She lifted her wand, pointed; the ropes sprang apart and Harry's hands fell into his lap. He chafed his wrists, his eyes downcast, and said, guardedly, "Are you going to scream at me, too?"