Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

“Wondering what?”

“If all this is about Ginny. Bringing me to the wedding, the dress…”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“If you’re trying to make her jealous,” said Blaise, “it won’t work.”

“So the moment I’m not a bastard to you any more, you assume you’re a cog in the turning wheels of my grand and evil plans? Perhaps you should work on your self-esteem issues a bit, darling Blaise.”

She looked at him steadily. “You didn’t want me when you had me and you don’t want me now.”

“I —“

“You don’t love me now,” she said firmly.

“This new laser-like insight of yours is very annoying,” Draco said, taking his feet off the cushions. “So what do you suggest we do to while away the hours? I’m sure there are a variety of wholesome options freely available to us.”

“We could talk,” she said. “We were always pretty good at talking. We could tell stories, jokes — “

“So how many Hufflepuffs does it take to screw in a light bulb?” Draco inquired, examining his flawless nails for possible defects.

“A what?”

“A light bulb. It’s a Muggle illuminating device. You have to screw it in to make it work. Look, just say you don’t know.”

“I don’t know.”

“All of them,” he said, “one to do it, and the rest to offer moral support.

How many Gryffindors does it take to screw it a lightbulb?”

She pushed the curtain open again and stared out the window. “I have no idea.”

“Three. Harry to do it, and Hermione and Ron to stand around telling him to be careful. Now, how many Slytherins does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I don’t know.”

“None,” he said, reaching past her and yanking the curtains closed. She felt his hard grip on her arm, then his fingers tracing the curve of her wrist. She could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. “We like it in the dark.”

The sun was setting as they arrived at the Manor, and Ginny could see that Narcissa had decorated it for the wedding with thousands of hovering light charms. They lit the Manor like a fairytale castle, from the gardens bound in ropes of light to the high turreted towers. She shivered a little, looking up as she stepped out of the carriage, remembering how Lucius had trapped Draco and Harry on one of those very towers, on a bitter winter night with the snow sifting down like iced sugar.

Seamus, standing beside her on the steps, looked at her curiously. “What are you thinking?”

She was spared answering by the rattling crunch of gravel as the other carriages pulled up behind theirs. Harry, Hermione and Ron spilled from the first one, and Blaise and Draco — looking a little disheveled — emerged from the second. Draco offered Blaise his hand to help her down from the carriage, but she ignored it, and stalked past him to Ginny. Her cheeks were bright red. “It was really hot in our carriage,” she said, fanning herself with a ringed hand. “Was it really hot in your carriage?”

“Not really,” said Ginny.

Seamus just stared at Blaise. She frowned. “You know, that thousand-yard Stare of Evil of yours is getting really annoying,” she said. “I just thought you should know.”

“Could be that your cooling charms were broken,” Seamus offered, still staring.

“Oh, for goodness sakes,” said Blaise. “Now you’re just staring at me like that on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” said Seamus.

The side of Ginny’s mouth twitched, much to her delight. It was rare that Seamus made her smile involuntarily.

“You’re here!” a delighted shout echoed from the top of the stairs. It was Narcissa, in chic fitted spring robes of a sort of frothy pink shade that made Ginny instantly jealous. She’d always wanted to be able to wear pink, but it just made her look sunburned. Sirius and Remus appeared behind Narcissa, both grinning their welcomes, and the next few minutes were a flurry of greetings and hugs, offers of refreshment, and luggage being floated up to the appropriate rooms.

Ginny found herself in a nicely appointed guest room, clearly decorated with some care by Narcissa in the time since Lucius had been gone. The yellow walls and pale green duvet made Ginny feel as if she were staying inside a flower, but they were very un-Malfoy. She slipped off her traveling robes and put on a light dress and sandals. She caught a glimpse of herself as she passed the mirror and turned her face away; she looked so tired. Sliding her hand into the pocket of her robes where they lay on the bed, she took out the flask of love potion and set it carefully on the bedside table. It glittered in the light that spilled from the window like a piece of jewelry, bright as all false promises.

Sirius had decided he wanted a small stag night this time, just a few close friends at the Cold Christmas Inn. He’d invited Remus and Harry and Draco of course, and Ron and the rest of the Weasley boys, though Ron was the only one who came as the rest of them hadn’t planned to arrive at the Manor until the next day. He had also invited Seamus as a sort of gesture of pity for all he’d been through — Seamus, however, declined to come, much to Draco’s relief.

They sat at a long wooden plank table and drank ale and elm wine, and Lupin told embarrassing stories about Sirius’ past and the time he’d asked two different girls to meet him on the same night in the prefect’s bathroom, forgetting he had the plans with the first one when he asked the second, and they’d been so disgusted with him that they’d tied him up stark naked with Toothflossing Stringmints and left him there for the house-elves to find.

“I was not naked,” corrected Sirius, as the table erupted in laughter. “I was wearing socks.”

“Three socks, if I remember correctly,” Lupin said.

“I have no idea what you mean,” said Sirius. “None.”

“Those girls must have been very, very angry at you,” said Harry, impressed. He had a certain fear of very, very angry women himself; both Hermione and Ginny were terrifying when enraged.

“Hell hath no fury like a woman invited to an impromptu threesome in the prefect’s bathroom — not that this has ever happened to me,” said Draco. “I deplore sloppy scheduling.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” said Ron.

“Is it ‘Enchantment under the Sea’?” Draco inquired.

Ron ignored this. “It’s women,” he said. “Women do us wrong.”

“Ah,” said Draco. “And now the much-anticipated misogynistic ranting part of the evening.” He motioned the waiter over and ordered several vodka shots in quick succession. When the waiter departed, he turned back to the table and gestured grandly towards Ron, who was glaring.

“Pray continue.”

“Women,” said Ron again, with that slight tremble of the eyebrow that meant he was very drunk indeed. “They use you. They lie to you. They leave you twitching alone in the darkness, choking on your own blood after they’ve plunged a dagger into your chest —“

“Oh, dear,” said Lupin. “You know, honestly, the worst thing a woman ever did to me was nickname me ‘Fluffy’ after she found out I was a werewolf.’”

“Women are trouble,” Sirius agreed sententiously, staring at the bottom of his empty tankard.

“Don’t say that!” said Harry. “You’re the one getting married tomorrow.”

“To my mother, I might add,” Draco pointed out, finishing his drink and reaching for another. He didn’t seem drunk yet, not to Harry at least, though there was a certain glitter to his eyes that indicated that he might be getting there.

“All except my fiancée, of course,” Sirius amended. “She is a jewel.”