Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

“No, it didn’t seem like her. All that dark wood and — what? Are you laughing at me?” she said, as a smile flitted across his face.

“Every time we dance past your brother and Blaise, he glares at me,” he said. “He seems quite certain I intend to ‘paw all over you’,” as he said.

“And you don’t?”

He laughed. “Sometimes I forget how direct you are. No, Ginny, I don’t plan to put my hands on you — unless you ask me to.”

She shook her head, making the gold butterfly clips rattle. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“You’ve rather mastered the art of being scornful, haven’t you, for a Weasley?” he said, with great amusement. “You know, it took me years to figure out who you were.”

She blinked at him, nonplussed. “What?”

“I was twelve,” Draco said. “I’d just come home for the summer and I went into the library looking for my father. He wasn’t there, but someone else was. A most beautiful girl, taller than I was, with hair like the edge of a candleflame—“

“You knew that was me?” Ginny was astonished. “You remembered?”

“Oh, it took me a good deal of time to realize that it had been you. The real you was eleven back then, all knobbly knees and big eyes and an even bigger crush on Harry Potter. I never would have tied you in to the gorgeous girl in the library who said she was going to be my governess and then vanished between one instant and the next.”

Ginny laughed. “I think I told you you were tiny,” she said.

“You did. It was quite a blow to my masculine pride.”

“Masculine pride? You were twelve!”

“I was quite disappointed you weren’t really going to be my governess, either. I had an entire fantasy about misbehaving just so you’d punish me

—“

“Glad to hear you were entirely perverse even at twelve.”

“I assure you, governess fantasies are quite the norm, especially among members of the upper class.” Draco steered her gracefully through a difficult turn.

“Is that why you’re telling me this story?” Ginny demanded. “Because I’m not going to dress up as a —“

“Shh.” Draco put a finger gently against her lips. She could smell the peppery scent of his cologne. “I’m telling you this story because I wanted you to know that for years I thought of you as the girl. The one I measured other girls against, even though I didn’t know you, didn’t know your name. And when I realized I’d actually known you all along but never recognized you —“

“Malfoy?” A familiar voice broke through Draco’s speech; looking as startled as Ginny felt, he stopped dancing. They both turned to see Harry standing just beside them, and from the way the others on the dance floor were staring after him, Ginny suspected he’d shouldered his way through the crowd to get to Draco. His collar was askew and he looked dazed, as if he’d been hit on the head. “Malfoy,” he said, again, “I need to talk to you.”

Ginny was already pulling her hands out of Draco’s, readying herself to let him go. He was staring at Harry, both corners of his mouth curled into that quixotic shape that meant he was truly nonplussed. “Now?” he said.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said, again, and he really did look dreadful, Ginny thought, as if he were about to be sick.

Ginny tried to step back, but Draco was holding her hands tightly, so tightly she could feel the bones in her fingers press against each other, and he said, “Harry, now is not a good time.”

“But—“ Harry began, and then he looked from Draco to Ginny and back again, and a high flush colored his pale cheeks. “Quite right,” he said, “I’m sorry to have been so rude,”and he turned and walked off, pushing his way through the crowd as if he were trying to lose himself in it.

Ginny turned back to Draco. “I wouldn’t have minded—“ she began, but he was already pulling her towards him, starting to move them both back into the dance.

“It’s all right,” he said. “What was it we were discussing? Governesses?”

“And the upper class,” she said, trying to make her voice light, but she could see from his expression that it was no good: the dancing light of mischief had left his eyes, and they were flat and grey as slate rocks.

There was a strange resistance in him, too, as if instead of leaning to her he was pulling back, into himself.

“Right,” he said. “I was telling you—“

She pulled away from him, and this time he wasn’t expecting it. Her hands came free and she stepped back, seeing his puzzled look turn to a look of realisation when she said, “Draco. Just go.”

“I —“

“I mean it,” she said.

He looked at her steadily for a moment, then swore under his breath, and turned away. She watched his bright hair until he vanished, swallowed up into the crowd. She had forgotten to ask him if he knew where Harry was going, but there was no real need to ask. He always knew. Her hand went to the chain at her throat. They should make a pendant that quoted the words from Seamus’ letter, she thought. I love you, but. After all, there was always something.

She was out on the balcony when he found her, sitting atop one of the marble railings as if she had no fear of the long drop to the garden below.

Her black hair, unbound, fell to her feet and blew around her even though there was very little wind; her dress was the same color as her hair, a black that seemed to soak up the night. There was little color in her pale, pointed face, just the red slash of her lips, curled into a wide smile like a mask of Comedy. Her feet were bare.

“Diviner,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”

Ron stepped out onto the balcony and shut the door firmly behind him.

He glanced around; there were other balconies than ran the length of this side of the Manor; most were occupied with couples. He could see a girl standing alone on a distant balcony, though it was too far for him to recognize her. In any case, no one was close enough to hear them. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.

Her smile widened. “I don’t normally obey summons these days — but I’m fond of you, so I came. Though I don’t flatter myself you missed me.”

“I associate you with being held prisoner by Voldemort,” Ron said frankly.

“I can’t help that. But you did make it more bearable.”

“I have a certain native sympathy for prisoners. And you seemed so charming — so very ordinary, despite your talents.”

“I am ordinary,” Ron said, “and I like it that way.”

“Do you still see the future?” Rhysenn asked, and cannily ran an arched, bare foot down the front of Ron’s shirt, tweaking the buttons with her toes.

“Don’t do that,” he said earnestly. “I have a girlfriend now.”

“I saw. The redheaded one who looks like she bites. Do you love her?”

“Yes,” said Ron.

Rhysenn sighed. “That’s depressing news. Don’t tell me you brought me here just to announce that, or I’ll be awfully annoyed.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you a favor,” Ron said. This was only somewhat true. Ginny was the one who had come up with this plan, and he had only agreed to it reluctantly. He had tried to ignore the small voice in the back of his head that said that half of Ginny’s plans were world-beaters, while the other half were sure disasters. He fervently hoped this one fell into the former and not the latter category. “You can travel in time, can’t you?”

She frowned curiously. “I can travel in dimensions, and time is a dimension,” she said. “But I don’t do it often — you can’t change the past, and there’s little point visiting the future; you’ll be there anyway one day.”