Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

They had been walking for a long time now — long enough that Harry could see the occasional chink of daylight spilling down through tiny gaps in the walls of the tunnel. He saw other things, too. Shadows that oozed away from them as they approached. A hooked and spiny foot, like the leg of a giant crab, flicking away around a corner. At one point he heard a noise — a sort of wet thump followed by a long, slithering, dragging noise -

that made his hair stand on end.

So far the light of his wand seemed to be keeping them away. He hoped they'd manage to get out of here before they met something that didn't mind light. Like -

Draco's hand fell on Harry's shoulder, startling him. "Potter — do you see that?"

Harry tensed all over, his hand straying towards his sword hilt. "See what?"

"That patch of light, up ahead. It's looks like — no, I'm sure it is. A gap in the rocks."

Harry squinted. Draco was right — he could see the glimmer up ahead, like light spilling around a half-opened doorway. Relief spilled through him.

"Well done, Malfoy. And here I was starting to think your night vision was going," he joked.

Draco took his hand off Harry's shoulder. "I seem to be able to make out the contrast between light and dark better than I would have thought," was all he said.

Harry didn't have the inclination to follow that up; he was already walking quickly along the corridor of the tunnel, the light up ahead growing brighter and brighter as he neared it. "Let's get out of here, Malfoy, before we — "

Hands seized him, yanking him sideways, slamming him up against the tunnel wall and knocking the breath out of him. His head struck a ledge of sharp rocks and his vision exploded in stars. When his eyes cleared, he looked first for Draco, and found him, caught and held as Harry was, his arms behind his back.

The creatures that held him were vampires. Harry recognized them from the street in Prague. Here underground their dead white faces and leering red mouths were ten times more horrible. Most of them were wrapped in stained rags instead of clothes. Harry didn't want to think about what the rags might be stained with. Draco looked disgusted and angry, wincing away from the cold grips on his arms. He didn't look frightened, but then he rarely looked frightened. Harry was about to send out an experimental thought inquiry when a musical voice echoed down the corridor.

"Before you what?" It was Gabriel, approaching them, stepping nimbly around the patches of sunlight that spilled from the widening chinks in the tunnel walls. "Before you run into something you don't like?"

Unlike the others, he was dressed not in rags, but in well-cut robes. Heavy jeweled rings sparkled on his clawed fingers. Black hair hung in a sheet around his papery face and his pupilless eyes sparked.

"Once before you escaped me," he said to Harry. "Once before I was forced to return to the Dark Lord empty-handed. Not this time." He grinned a sharp-fanged grin. "I'm sure the Dark Lord won't begrudge me a little of your blood before I bring you to him," he said. "In fact, he would likely prefer you in a weakened state. As for your friend — " he jerked his head towards Draco — "I am sure you will enjoy watching us feed on him until he is dead. Although never let it be said that I am not merciful," he added. "If you like, you can close your eyes."

It was Draco, not Harry, who spoke first. Harry, fighting for breath against the rage and horror swelling in his chest, stared as Draco cleared his throat and addressed Gabriel, his tone cool and polite. "It's a good plan, except for one thing," he said. "You wouldn't want our blood — it's poisoned."

"You're lying," Ron snarled, as soon as he could speak.

Rhysenn only looked at him, her pale face marked with pity. "I am not," she said. "She lies dead in the Ceremonial Chamber. I took this," and she reached down into her sleeve and drew from it a thick gold chain, "from her lifeless body."

Ron felt his mouth fall open. It was Draco's Epicyclical Charm.

In that moment, he knew Hermione to be dead. The Charm could only be given willingly by the wearer, or taken from the wearer by force after he or she had died. It was part of the Charm's magic. And she would never have given it up willingly. Never.

Ron felt stunned and disconnected, as if he were dreaming. A great ball of rage and grief and anguish was swelling inside his chest, yet he felt curiously outside everything, as if he were floating high above it all, looking down. But when he fell… Hermione…Hermione!

"Ah." Lucius sounded amused. "Might I have that? I did create it, after all."

Voldemort flicked a hand at Rhysenn. "Give it to him."

As Rhysenn glided across the room toward Lucius, she passed close to Ron. For a moment, she paused, her wide black eyes fixed on him as if she were trying to tell him something. "You must understand," she murmured softly. "This is the only way."

Ron spat at her.

Rhysenn jerked back, her eyes flashing, then went across the room to Lucius. He took the Charm from her, and placed it around his own neck.

"So light," he marveled. "I did not recollect it as so light."

"Your son is nearly dead, Master," said Rhysenn. "The life force flees from the Charm as his life leaves his body."

"Indeed," said Lucius. "That serves to remind me…" He turned to Voldemort. "My Lord," he said. "I do not in any way wish to hasten you.

But time grows short. The man I told you of — the one who murdered your Death Eaters — he is dying."

Voldemort had returned to fondling the Cup, a greedy look on his face.

"Very well, then. Let him die. Later I will feed his corpse to the ghouls in the wine cellar."

A flash of impatience passed over Lucius' face. "My Lord…this man…he may well possess something of far more worth and importance to you than a few Death Eaters — "

Voldemort stopped fondling the Cup. "He has killed my servants," he said grimly.

"Yet he may well become," said Lucius, "the greatest servant you have ever had."

Voldemort lowered the Cup, though his fingers continued to caress it.

"Very well. Bring him here."

Lucius nodded and raised his hand. Then, with a decisive motion, he twisted the heavy silver ring on his finger into a single three-quarter turn.

"Poisoned?" Gabriel's eyes narrowed. The grip on Harry's arms loosened as the vampires conferred among themselves in unpleasant, sibilant voices. Harry, fumbling as carefully as he could for the sword at his hip, wondered what on earth was going on in Draco's head. Of all his stupid schemes, this had to be the most crackpot, the most harebrained and ridiculous -

Gabriel laughed. "Oh, you are delightful," he said. "Even if you were poisoned, mortal poisons have no effect upon our kind. We are not like you, who can be killed with a cut, a fever, a whisper of sickness."

"This poison," Draco said, "is different. It will kill you, too."

Despite himself, Harry was impressed — if he hadn't known better, he would have believed Draco himself. He began calculating whether there was any way for Draco to make a run for the sunlight while he held off the rest of them. Although there were so many — scores of red eyes disappearing into the darkness, row on row…

"Only sunlight can destroy me." Gabriel looked irritated now, his lip curling over his fangs. "Come here, boy." One of his clawed hands shot out like a striking snake and seized hold of Draco's arm, yanking the boy close to him. His other hand came up and traced the line of Draco's cheek, down from the corner of his eye to the angle of his jaw. Draco kept his eyes straight ahead, not looking at Harry, his response to Harry's desperate inquiries only a deadly flatness. Just stay where you are, Potter.