Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

Harry looked at Ron narrowly; there was something in Ron's tone he didn't like, as if his best friend were mourning some lost, elegiac Golden Age. “Yeah. I remember.” He held the cup out. “You want to carry it?”

But Ron shook his head, hands in his pockets. “No. It's all right.” He looked towards the door. “We should go,” he said, and ducked his head as Harry swirled the cloak over both of them, and they vanished from sight.

When Ron and Harry returned to the library, Ginny had gone, and Draco and Hermione were sitting together at the table. Hermione had her head on her arms and appeared to be asleep; Draco was reading. He lifted a finger to his lips as Harry and Ron approached.

Harry looked at Draco, then set the cup down on the table and crouched down next to Hermione's seat. She was indeed asleep, her head resting on her crossed arms, her eyes shut. He could see how tired she must be: her eyelids had a waxy, pearlescent sheen, and there were shadows under her eyes. Her lips were parted softly and the tumbled hair that has escaped from its bun stirred with her breathing. He forgot that Draco and Ron were there as he knelt next to her, forgot that anyone else was there besides the two of them, and for that timeless moment hung in a space occupied only by Hermione and himself. He could never forget how much he loved her, but now he was reminded again and forcefully, and he felt it as an ache inside himself, a hard pain in the depths of his soul. If she only knew…

He had not spoken, but her eyelids fluttered open as if she had heard him. She smiled slowly, her clear dark eyes focusing on his face. “Harry…”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I didn't realize you were so tired,” he said gently. “I brought the cup.”

“Oh!” she said, and sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “Thank you.” She yawned, and touched the cup with a smile. “It's adorable, isn't it. What a shame we have to use it for something like this.”

“It's a good cause,” Draco said, without looking up from his book.

Ron was chewing the side of his lip thoughtfully. “Remind me again how this is going to work,” he said.

Hermione looked vexed. “We're gone over this…”

“It's, just, won't it be surrounded by guards and things?”

“The cup? No more than any of the other objects in the museum.

Remember, they don't know what it is — it's just a historical curiosity to them, not part of an immensely powerful magical equation.”

“Are you sure?” Ron said. “I mean, maybe they just don't want to make it clear to everyone else that they do know how powerful it is…maybe they're just trying not to attract any attention to it.”

Hermione blinked, and for a moment looked surprised — Harry realized that this had honestly not occurred to her. “No,” she said slowly, and then more swiftly, “No, because there's no reason then that they'd have to put it on display, they could just hide it away somewhere. It's only by chance that we even managed to suss it out. If Draco hadn't had the dreams he's had, if it hadn't connected back up to Nicholas Flamel, I'd never have twigged that the cup in the museum was one of the Four Worthy Objects.”

“Might be one of the Four Worthy Objects,” Ron corrected, dropping his voice.

Hermione nodded. “I know, but better safe than sorry.”

“Ah,” said Ron, nodding. “This must be some newfangled usage of the word 'safe' that I hadn't previously been aware of.”

Harry laughed. “I thought you were missing all our adventures,” he said.

“If robbing a museum isn't an adventure, I don't know what is.”

Ron flushed, then grinned crookedly. “You have a point,” he replied, then glanced at his watch. “Herm, we're meant to be down in Flitwick's office going over the student list for the trip right now…”

“Oh. Right.” Hermione got to her feet, stifling another yawn, smiled at Harry, and picked up her books and cloak. “See you at supper then?” she said.

He got to his feet, and nodded. “Have fun being Head Boy and Head Girl.”

Hermione made a face. “Don't knock it…we wouldn't have a museum trip otherwise.”

Ron tapped his watch. “Hermione…”

She picked up the cup, put it in her bag, and kissed Harry's cheek. “See you later — oh, and Draco, remember what we talked about.” And with that, she left with Ron, both of them chattering animatedly.

Harry looked down at Draco. “'Remember what we talked about'?”

Draco, who had his long legs stretched out on top of the table, shrugged.

“We were just trying to think of different ways to create a diversion at the museum tomorrow.”

“Come up with anything?”

“Few things. Probably better if you're surprised though.”

Harry, accepting this, threw himself down in the chair next to Draco. “I'm flipping exhausted,” he said. “I don't know about you.”

“Well, six midnight meetings and intensive robbery-planning will do that to you. Fortunately, I manage to maintain my radiant glow without sleep.”

“Yes, fascinating how you do that,” said Harry, reaching for a thermos of pumpkin juice that Hermione had left at the table. “So, Rhysenn not bothering you in the middle of the night any more?”

Draco gave him a shrewd look. “I haven't seen her,” he said. “Have you?”

Harry shook his head, alarmed. “No.”

“I suspect she can't come into the castle,” Draco said. “I think you're safe.”

Harry unscrewed the thermos cap thoughtfully. “What do you think she wants, anyway?”

Draco shrugged. “Ultimately that's anyone's guess. Other than wanting in your pants, apparently.”

“Glargh.” Harry moaned. “Don't say that.”

“I'm just offended she doesn't want in my pants.”

“Maybe she does,” Harry suggested placatingly.

“I don't think she's ever really tried it on with me…not like she did with you.” Draco paused thoughtfully. “Lucky me, I suppose.”

“She does have quite an…effect,” Harry said, feeling himself blush.

“Must be six hundred years of pent-up frustration,” Draco said.

Harry choked, and spit pumpkin juice out all over the open book in front of him. “Six hundred years,” he said, and goggled. “She's that old?”

“Remarkably well-preserved, isn't she?” Draco remarked. “And don't spit on that book — it's antique.”

“So is she,” said Harry. He bit his lip. “Not that it helps much…” He looked up at Draco with wide eyes. “What is she, Malfoy?”

“I think,” Draco said slowly, “she's some kind of demon. Or something.

She seems to have the ability to, ah…well…what exactly does it seem like to you?”

Harry felt himself turn bright Gryffindor red. “I think she's some kind of, um, sex demon,” he said.

Draco looked as if he were trying very, very hard not to laugh. “Well, it could be worse,” he said. “She could be a nailing-people-to-the-wall-with-sharp-spikes demon.”

“I can't help thinking that'd be a bit easier to fight off,” said Harry. “She just makes me feel so…powerless.”

“Well, my dad always said when that happened you should try picturing the enemy in their underwear,” said Draco, then added hastily, “but given the nature of the problem, in your case that might not be a good move.”

“You're not helping, Malfoy…”

“All right, then, let's talk about something else. Like what I'm supposed to get Seamus Finnigan for Christmas.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah, Hermione told me you drew his name.”

“Who did you get?”

“Eloise Midgen.”

“Ah. New nose, then?”

“Shut up, Malfoy. Eloise is a very nice person.”

Draco grinned. “Guess who Blaise got.”