Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"Now you're lying," Harry said, stung into anger-but it was the wrong thing to say. Draco's mouth set.

"I don't lie," he said, coldly, and before Harry could move to stop him, pushed past him and out the door of the library.

The third trip, thanks to Ron's presence, was less cold than the previous two. His hands were comfortingly warm in her own as the freezing blackness ebbed and flowed around them, an inky tide of nothingness.

When it receded, they were standing again in the library. It was much as it had been the previous time Ginny had been there, only it was dark now, all the candles unlit, the torches guttered, and there were no parchments on the bare wooden tables.

She let go of Ron's hands. He looked around wonderingly. "This is the school? A thousand years ago?"

She nodded. "Last time I was here they were fixing the place back up after it was damaged in the last battle of the Founders. There weren't any students there then. I don't know if there are now. It hasn't been that long."

"Yeah." He looked around and shivered. "It's cold."

"I know. I wonder…" She sighed. "My guess is there probably aren't students here now. They'd never let it get so freezing if there were."

Without answering, Ron went to the library door and swung it open. He peered into the hallway beyond. "There aren't any torches lit out here either," he called back.

"Shhhh." Ginny took her wand out, lit it with a quick Lumos, and joined Ron at the door. The corridor beyond the library stretched away into darkness, all the torches unlit. "This can't be good. Oh, poor Ben. Poor Gareth."

"You said that already." Ron stepped out into the hall and gestured for her to follow. "Let's go this way."

"Why that way?"

"Just a feeling I have."

"Well, you are the Diviner." She shrugged, falling into step beside him.

They were taking a route that, in their own time, would have led them to Dumbledore's office. The corridors of the castle looked much the same now as they would in the future. Perhaps the floors were less scuffed and worn, she thought, though it was difficult to tell in the dimness.

"There," Ron said quietly. He pointed. At the very end of the corridor, Ginny could make out a flickering light, delicate as a will-o-the-wisp. She squinted, then hurried forward, Ron trailing behind her.

As they moved along the corridor, she glanced down, for some reason, at the scar on her right hand, where Tom had burned it in the Gryffindor common room fire. It stood out still against her brown and freckled skin, a veiling of irregular white lines, as if she wore a lace glove.

Nearing the light, she saw that it was the tip of a lit wand, held by someone who was sitting on the floor, his legs drawn up, his face buried on his crossed arms. Black robes puddled around him like spilled ink. He looked up as Ginny came to stand beside him, and slowly knelt to touch his arm. "Ben?" she said.

He did not smile. He looked not much older than he had the last time she'd seen him, though there were hard lines on his face that had not been there before, lines of grief marked close to his mouth and eyes. He smelled of liquor, medicine and metal. "You," he said, "like the Angel of Death, you come just as promised, just on time…"

Harry stood frozen for a moment, then rushed out into the hallway after Draco.

He found him standing in the corridor, looking around with a bemused expression. "I thought you said there was death out here," he said. "All I see is some rather appalling Victorian-era wallpaper. Place needs brightening up a little, doesn't it?"

"It's a horrible old pile," Harry opined, slightly out of breath. "I've told you that before."

"Yes, but your taste is bad," Draco noted. "Mine, on the other hand…" He half-closed his eyes. "It's that tugging again," he added. "I have to get to the front door. There's something there-"

"No," Harry said sharply, and caught at Draco's sleeve, but the other boy was too quick for him. Eluding Harry's grasp, Draco strode, swiftly and purposefully, towards the stairs.

Harry darted after him. "Wait."

"I can't wait any longer." Draco was moving down the steps now, one hand on the banister, which had been polished to a dark glow. Torchlight flared at the bottom of the steps. Harry could see the immense double doors of the Manor, looming below them like enormous gates.

"Just let me talk to you."

Draco had reached the foot of the stairs. He threw his head back, looking up at Harry, and his eyes were narrow slits of gray. "There's nothing else to say."

"But there is." Harry was on the step above Draco now, looking down at him from a height of several extra inches. Past Draco, he could see the narrow windows flanking the huge doors, and beyond the windows more of the same swirling, cloudy greyness. "Let me see your wrists."

"My wrists?" Draco looked at Harry as if he'd gone mad, then slowly extended his hands, palms down. Harry reached to take them and turned them over, so he could see the lightning scar along Draco's left palm, nearly blotted out by the double-cross scar he'd sliced over it. Along his wrists were other scars, thick and white as narrow snakes sliding under the skin, puckered at the edges as if long-healed. Draco looked at them. "I gave all I had already," he said, thoughtfully. "I haven't got any more."

"Did you do that to yourself?"

Draco pulled his wrists out of Harry's grasp. "If you're asking if I tried to top myself, no. Hardly a need, really."

"You gave all you had of what? What is it you're missing?"

"If you have to ask…" Draco shook his head, backed down the steps and turned. No! Harry thought, and suddenly he was in front of Draco, blocking his path to the front door. Beyond the walls of the Manor, he could hear the howling of wind.

Draco made a clucking noise of annoyance. "Potter, this game of human chess becomes wearisome."

"I know." Harry held his hand up, as if reaching to catch something. His empty fingers clenched and found they were gripping something: the sword of Gryffindor, red stones winking along the hilt. "But if you want to get past me, you'll have to fight me."

Draco's lips curled at the corners like burning paper. "Fight you? You must be joking."

Harry shook his head. He could taste salt in his mouth, and copper. "I've never been more serious."

Draco shook his head as if in disbelief. "Fine," he said, and raised his own hand, and the black-and-silver glimmer of Terminus Est was there, bright in his grasp. "But do not expect me to be merciful," he added, lowering the blade as he lunged at Harry.

"Ben," Ginny said softly. "Are you all right?"

He didn't answer, rising slowly to his feet, one hand braced against the stone wall. She saw that the robes he was wearing were stained with blood, still wet in some places, gleaming almost black in the torchlight.

"Have you hurt yourself?" she asked.

Ben shook his head. "No," he said. "Unfortunately not."

"He's drunk," Ron whispered in her ear. Ginny frowned at him.

Ben narrowed his eyes. "Who's that with you?"

"My brother," said Ginny. "This is Ron."

"Ah, right." Ben said. "We've met before." His eyes glanced over Ron and returned to Ginny. "They're good things to have, brothers."

"I think so," she said, gently. "Ben, if you need-"

"There's nothing I need." There was venom in his tone. "Let's not play games. You're not here to see what I need, you're here for what you need.

Aren't you?"

Stung, Ginny said nothing; it was Ron who answered. "The runic band," he said.

Ben raised an arm slowly and pointed at the doorway beside him. "In there," he said. Ginny had never heard two words spoken so bleakly before.