Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"Alone," Rhysenn sneered. "You mean, alone without you."

"No," Hermione whispered.

"There's a girl who would have been happy to stay with him," said Rhysenn, "if you would have let her."

"He doesn't love her." Hermione lashed out sharply with her voice, beyond caring or pretending she didn't understand. "He doesn't love Ginny. He told me so — "

"He said that? He said in so many words, I do not love her?"

"It was what he meant." Hermione heard Draco's voice in her head, the lucid, emotionless tone, Is there any way to respond to I love you with anything but I love you, too?

"He loves you because he thinks you are unselfish," said Rhysenn. "If only he knew how selfish you really are."

"I can't help it," Hermione said. "I can't help who I love. I don't want to love him, but I do — it's like he's part of me, a part I don't even like sometimes, but I need him and he needs me — "

"Because you have arranged it that way," Rhysenn went on, her voice cold and inexorable. "It is by your design that you are the only one who can make the antidote he needs to live — you could control his access to Harry, if you — "

"I could never do that. I would never do that."

"But you've thought about it."

Hermione stared blankly at Rhysenn. "You're cruel."

"Love is cruel," said the demon girl, "and so is desire and that, after all, is what I am. And you may look at me however you like, but at least I know my own nature. You mock my servitude, my captivity, but at least I do not keep others captive, especially those I profess to love. And I am truthful in my desires. Can you say the same?"

"I " The front of Hermione's shirt was wet. She looked down at herself, realized she had been crying, long enough that tears had soaked her clothes. When she looked up again, the door to the bedroom was open, and two men were standing in the doorway. One was short and fat, with a hand that gleamed like a new silver moon; one was tall and pale as bone.

Wormtail, and the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord glided soundlessly into the room, and his servant followed.

His eyes, under their heavy albino brow ridges, were the color of old blood. He glanced at Hermione coldly, then turned to Rhysenn. "The Mudblood seems out of sorts," he said. "Have you been using her without our permission?"

"I have not laid a hand on her," said Rhysenn, bowing her head, "my Lord."

"I would imagine she weeps out of fear," said Wormtail, "not pain, Master."

"Ah."The Dark Lord's eyes swept Hermione; the lipless mouth smiled.

"The anticipation of pain is indeed a terrible thing," he said. "Let it be over." He stretched out his hand to her and hissed through his teeth:

"Crucio."

They were flying over a wide valley checkerboarded with winter-brown fields and dotted with small farmhouses when Draco reached around and tugged on Harry's shirt.

Harry half-turned, his vision obscured by his own whipping hair. "What is it, Malfoy?"

"I'm hungry," Draco said.

Even blinded by hair and with the wind stinging his eyes to tears, Harry could see Draco's woebegone expression. "You're hungry?"

Draco's tone was stubborn. "I'm hungry."

"Well, then," Harry said crossly. "Let me just whip up a few sandwiches for you. Never mind that we're two hundred feet up in the air and miles from anywhere."

"There is no need for sarcasm at this altitude."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Just tap the thestral and say, 'Hey there mate, could you drop us off somewhere where we could get some food?' or perhaps — "

Harry broke off abruptly as the thestral suddenly wheeled and banked, angling itself into a steep dive towards the ground. Draco shrieked like a girl and grabbed for the back of Harry's shirt. They both slid forward onto the horse's neck, seizing at handfuls of tangled mane. The ground came up with alarming swiftness, and they landed with such jarring force that Harry pitched sideways off the horse's back, landing awkwardly in a pile of hay. Draco landed next to him, with more grace if no less force. The thestral paused for a moment, regarding them beadily. Then it took off into the sky with a powerful beating of its scaly wings.

Cursing the thestral, Harry sat up and looked around. They were in a field, liberally dotted with pyramids of dried straw. A group of scruffy-looking chickens flapped noisily around a puddle of dirty water and there was a dilapidated farmhouse nearby. Draco was sitting next to him, picking straw out of his hair. "And you say thestrals don't listen to you," he said, glancing around curiously.

"It's not like there's anything to eat around here," Harry pointed out.

"Well, not in this haystack, but possibly in that village over there," Draco said, waving his arm towards a cluster of small low-roofed buildings in the middle distance. "To which end," he added, leaping to his feet in a shower of straw, "I shall return shortly."

Harry sat up. "Don't you want me to go with you?"

Draco shook his head. "It's a small place. One foreign visitor will be alarming enough. Two foreign boys and a nasty-looking horse will rouse the whole village."

"They won't be able to see the horse," Harry pointed out.

Draco looked at him darkly. "This village lies in the shadow of a stronghold of the Dark Lord," he said. "You want to bet on that?"

Harry got to his feet in a shower of straw. "Well, how come you get to go?"

"You know," Draco said, arcing a pale eyebrow, "I was the bilingual one of us, last time I checked," and with that, he turned and walked towards the village, kicking dried grass in front of him. Harry watched him go, a slim dark figure crowned with hair that was the only bright thing visible against the gray-brown fields and the grayer sky.

He returned, neat and composed, a half an hour later. He was carrying what looked like a loaf of bread, some cheese and dried fruit, and a corked bottle filled with clear liquid. He tossed the food to Harry, who was sitting on a tree stump near the farmhouse, and began to struggle with the cork.

Harry bit off a piece of bread. "Don't drink all the water," he said. "I'm thirsty too."

Draco looked up, tossing bright hair out of his eyes. "Oh, this isn't water, my friend," he said. He hefted the bottle. "Palinka."

Harry blinked. "What did you call me?"

"Palinka," Draco repeated, rolling his eyes, "it's a sort of fruit brandy, and from what I gathered, could take the paint off a house at twenty paces."

He waved a hand at Harry. "Give me a knife."

"I haven't got a knife."

Draco rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and tapped one of Harry's leather-cuffed wrists. "You've got a knife."

"Oh," Harry said, and bent his hand backward, the way Draco had showed him. A knife shot from the cuff, just above his wrist, and embedded itself in the hay bale next to Draco.

"Do be careful, won't you?" Draco said in a patronizing tone, took hold of the knife, and dug the cork out of the bottle. "You could have hit the bottle, you know." Dropping the knife, he took a swig, made a face, and rubbed his face on his sleeve, a funny, childish gesture Harry couldn't remember him making before. "Well, well. As an extra bonus, it's flavored like paint remover."

"That's your lunch?" Harry demanded, biting into the cheese. It had a sharp, sweet bite that was very pleasant. "Brandy?"

"Brandy with fruit." Draco waved the bottle expansively. "Loads of nutritional value."

Harry expelled an amused breath. "Whatever you say, Malfoy," he said.

"So, do you think there's any chance that thestral is coming back, or are we going to have to Summon broomsticks or what?"

"Neither," Draco said, sitting back against a hay bale. "We're going to have to walk."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Walk?"