Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

She froze in his grasp. “Harry knows?” she echoed, her voice utterly shocked. “He knows?”

He stared at her. All the whirling thoughts in his head came together like glass fragments under the Reparo spell. Everything seemed suddenly very obvious and very clear. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, and she gasped in pain, but he hardly noticed it. When he spoke, he marveled at the evenness of his own voice: its firmness and deliberation. “Tell me,” he said. “Who are you?”

She tried to pull away. “Ron, let me go.”

“Who are you?” he said again. “Who are you, and why have you been pretending to be Hermione?”

References:

The fountain in the museum with its poem is from The Weirdstone of Brisingamen; Archenland wine that's incredibly strong is from The Narnia Chronicles; all the Dark books in the Museum are from HP Lovecraft's Miskatonic University. The idea that the Slytherin dungeon is built into a cliff is from Stacey. The Stonehenge Museum historical pamphlet is adapted from the British Museum's historical pamphlet. "and trust me, Weasley, eternity with Satan and all his hellish minions will be nothing compared to five minutes with me and the pointy end of my wand." — Blackadder

“crazy whirligig of fun” — Buffy

“This must be some newfangled usage of the word 'safe' that I hadn't previously been aware of.” — Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

“Was born, ate a potato, sucked at Quidditch, almost got shagged but not quite, ate a potato, died.” — Buffy

“the Balinese Goddess of Plenty” — Blackadder

It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace.

— GBS

"Will he die of it?" the Dark Lord asked.

He stood beside a polished rosewood table on which sat a chess set carved from fluted glass. The chess set was familiar to Draco. He had seen it somewhere before. It nagged at him, but like all things seen in dreams, he could not pinpoint its place in his life. The room the Dark Lord stood in was full of shadows: Draco knew this room, and the gilded cage that stood at one end of it. At the moment, the cage was empty.

Lucius, who stood a little ways away, seemed to hesitate. "That is one possible outcome, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded. In his long-fingered hand he was holding a chess piece: a green knight. "And this risk is acceptable to you?"

Lucius nodded. "Strategy entails risk."

Voldemort began to turn the chess piece over and over. "Perhaps he will die of a broken heart first."

Lucius blinked. "I have never known you to concern yourself overmuch with hearts, my Lord."

"To everything there is a season, my dear Lucius," said the Dark Lord, and set the knight down on the polished surface of a rosewood table.

"Yes, my Lord. A time to be born, and a time to die."

"No need to quote Scripture at me, Lucius," said the Dark Lord, sounding amused. "We have the Cup now, or at least it is no longer where we cannot reach it. When the Ritual is performed, I shall ascend, and the old order will pass away, as shall the old gods. I shall be the only ruler of not just the wizarding world, but all worlds. My name will be legion. I will show to them the true nature of gods."

"Which is?" Lucius asked. Draco could hear a note in his voice that surprised him: he sounded strained, perhaps angry. Voldemort did not seem to notice.

"Indifferent and cruel. And loving not mankind."

Lucius looked as if he were about to speak, when the door opened.

Wormtail entered, carrying a tray. He crossed the room, and put the tray down on the table beside the chess set. Draco saw that the tray held a decanter of brandy: he suspected it was Re'em Martin, his father's favorite.

"Thank you, Peter," said Lucius, without looking towards him. To Draco's surprise, Wormtail then seated himself at the table, and poured a glass of brandy. He raised it to his lips, and the Dark Lord frowned at him.

"Is she returning tonight?" Wormtail asked, jerking his chin towards the empty cage along the far wall.

The Dark Lord's frown deepened. Without another word, he gathered his robes around him and stalked from the room. As the door shut behind him, Lucius whirled on his unfortunate companion.

"I thought I told you not to address him directly, you idiotic — "

"I was just asking a question," Wormtail said belligerently, and drained the glass in his hand. When he set the glass down on the table, his hand was trembling. "An innocent question."

"Nothing about you is innocent," Lucius snapped.

Wormtail poured himself another glass of brandy. "Does he know where the Cup is?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "Yes, Peter."

"Does he really?"

"He knows who has it — why do you question? Have you information which you have been withholding?"

"I thought my opinion was of no interest to you," said Wormtail, with an odd flash of his eyes.

"It is not of any interest to me."

Wormtail bared his little rat teeth over the rim of the glass. "He is mad.

Mad, and you know it."

"Silence!" Lucius bellowed, so loud that the fabric of the dream began to rend and split, and Draco felt his eyes fluttering open. "He can hear you…"

The dream was gone. Draco opened his eyes and the room swam into focus around him. He tried to sit up, but something was gripping his upper arm like a vise. He turned, and saw her lying beside him, drowned in deep sleep, her face pillowed on her tumbled hair — Hermione? What's she doing here, in bed with me? Good God, what've I done? — and then he remembered, and sat up so quickly he almost knocked his skull on the headboard.

"Hermione, wake up." He shook her shoulder. "Come on."

She came back to consciousness if she were swimming up through deep water, her eyelids fluttering open slowly. Her dark eyes focused on him, and he saw the confusion in them for a moment. Then she seemed to remember, and half-sat up, rubbing at her eyes. "I was dreaming," she said. "You were in it."

"Was I?" He sat back against the pillows, and tried not to think about how much he wanted to stay there and rest. "What was I doing?"

"You were in it, and so was Harry. You were… different. We were all in London. I think you were…I don't know, gangsters or something. You had guns. It was very peculiar."

Draco blinked at her. "What's a gangster?"

"Never you mind." A smile ghosted across Hermione's face. "You were older. You were…"

"I was what?"

"Nothing." The smile widened, then vanished. She sat up straighter, her shoulders tensing. "What time is it?"

"Just past midnight," he said.

She bit her lip, looking tense and unhappy. Her hair tumbled around her head in unruly curls which had begun to frizz up at the ends. "I have to get back to Gryffindor Tower," she said.

He leaned forward, ignoring the exhaustion which dragged him down like a lead weight. "Are you sure that's a good — "

"I have to see Harry." Her voice was tense and desperate.

"Okay." He hesitated. "And again, I have to ask you. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I want to ask him to put the Veritas curse on me." Her hands balled into tight fists at her side. "Then he'll have to believe me."

"What if he won't do it?"

"Then I want you to do it."

Draco stared. "What?"

"Then I want you to do it. In front of him."

"Hermione — "

"There's no other way!"

He reached out for her, but she jumped off the bed and began pacing up and down the room. The fire behind her had burned down to orange-red embers, and the smoky light outlined her body through her clothes, tinting her hair a dark scarlet. She spun and faced him, looking determined.