Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

"He trusts you," she said. "Come with me to talk to him. If you put the Veritas curse on me without telling him you're going to — "

"I don't want to put the Veritas curse on you without telling him I'm going to."

"But you have to — "

"I don't," he said coldly, "have to do anything." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and looked sharply at her. "I'd do a lot for you," he said.

"I'd go so far as to say I'd do almost anything for you. But I won't blindside Harry. Maybe he trusts me now, but would he then?"

She looked shocked for a moment. Then her shoulders drooped. "You're right," she said. "I'm sorry." She looked back at the fire. "Come with me," she said again. "Just to talk to him, then."

Draco fought down his misgivings. "All right." He slid off the bed, landed lightly on his feet — and almost passed out. The blood roared in his ears as loudly as thunder, and black diamonds of darkness danced in front of his eyes. He grabbed at the bedpost to steady himself.

"Draco?" Hermione was at his side in an instant, her hand on his arm.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded as his vision slowly cleared. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. Her dark eyes were fixed on his face, full of concern. "I haven't forgotten about what you asked me the other day -

about your shoulder. I've been looking in the library…"

"I said I was all right." He shook off her hand, not looking at her. He bent down again, this time carefully, and grabbed for his boots, which were under the bed. She watched him while he laced them up, biting her lip and looking anxious. It was exactly the way she usually looked at Harry, he thought — concerned and… protective. He didn't like it — didn't want to feel worried about. He stood up and grabbed for his cloak, which had been flung across a chair back. "Let's go."

The corridor was deserted, thankfully, as was the common room. The torchlight in the outside hallways was dimmed almost to nonexistence.

Draco murmured lumos at his wand, and grimly smiled to himself at how they must look — the Slytherin prefect and the Head Girl, sneaking along the corridors like a guilty couple on their way back from the Astronomy Tower. Although in that case, he imagined, Hermione probably would have been clinging to his arm. Instead, she walked a little apart, lost in thought.

As they turned a corner, she paused. "Draco, wait."

He stopped and turned. "What it is?"

Hermione was biting her lip. "The prefects' meeting room…" She turned and pointed. "We just passed it."

Draco was taken aback. "You don't think…?"

"I thought I heard a noise," she said, still staring off down the corridor.

Draco lowered his wand. "All right. Let's check it out." As he passed Hermione, she caught at his sleeve, and they walked the rest of the way to the meeting room door like that. Now we look like a guilty couple, Draco thought, and shoved the thought back.

The meeting room door was closed, but a faint bar of light lay across the bottom. That in itself meant nothing, but it was enough to make Draco turn back to Hermione. She was staring at him with huge eyes. She jerked her chin towards the door.

He sighed, and put a hand on the knob. "Eirenaeus Philalethes," he said, and the doorknob turned under his fingers. He pushed, and the door swung open.

The light inside was dim, and it took a moment for Draco to focus his eyes on the scene before him. When he did, he stared.

He saw Ron standing by the table. He had shrugged off his school robes, and was in a shirt and jeans. His red hair was wildly rumpled around his head, and he was leaning forward, his hands on the shoulders of a girl seated in a chair in front of him. It took a moment for Draco, noting Ron's posture, to realize that he was not touching her affectionately, but instead, holding her tightly in place. She was wearing white pajamas, sprigged with flowers, and her dark hair was pulled back. Even without seeing her face, Draco knew immediately who she was. He was not at all surprised when she whipped her head around at the sound of the opening door, and he saw her wide dark eyes, the familiar line of her nose, the curved-bow mouth.

It was Hermione.

"You're really not going to do anything?"

"And what," Dumbledore asked, "would you suggest that I do?"

"I don't know," said Charlie, and walked restless over to the small table by the bay window in the office. Outside, the moon hung round and white above the snowy grounds. "Something's obviously going on."

"Things are often going on, as you put it," said Dumbledore, gazing calmly at him. "It does not necessarily mean I should intervene."

Charlie pushed his hands into his pockets; he was very cold, although a fire was roaring in the grate behind Fawkes' perch. It seemed a year since he had run up the stairs of Gryffindor Tower, responding to the alarm wards which had been set off by the Veritas curse Harry had performed, although he knew it had been only a matter of hours. "The last time I saw my little brother cry was when he was six," he said. "And then again tonight."

"I understand, and I am sorry."

"What's to be sorry about? Ron wouldn't do something like this — " Charlie broke off, and turned away from his old Headmaster. "He loves Harry, they were like brothers."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. In the silence, Charlie could hear Fawkes rustling on his perch. It seemed to him the phoenix was making a low humming noise, almost music. "I know," Dumbledore said finally, his eyes troubled. "But perhaps you are too close to this situation, Charles, to be objective. I can only reiterate that at the moment, it is not my business to intrude."

"Objective about what?" Charlie demanded. "This puzzle doesn't add up, sir. If Ron's telling the truth, then both he and Hermione were acting bizarrely out of character. And apparently Hermione denied the whole thing. So either she's lying, or my brother is, or one of them has gone completely mad — which, I should think, would be a matter of concern for the school."

"I talked to your brother at length," Dumbledore said. "He is not mad. He is quite lucid."

"What does Remus say?" asked Charlie abruptly. "Has he contacted Sirius?

Perhaps Harry could go home early. Classes are all but over, after all."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry specifically requested that we not contact Sirius. He was anxious that the wedding not be spoiled."

Charlie felt a frustrated anger tug at him — at himself for not seeing something was wrong earlier, at Harry for stubbornly refusing any kind of comforting, at his brother for being so willfully blind. His sympathies were torn — he could only imagine what it would be like for Ginny when she discovered what had happened. Ron was their brother and they loved him unconditionally, but Harry had always been an honorary member of the family as well, and he was so very obviously shattered by what had happened. Charlie's heart broke for him, not just for the teenager who had lost his two best friends in one night, but the fragile little boy who had never had a family. For years Ron and Hermione had been all the family Harry had ever known.

When he spoke, his voice was rougher than he intended. "I should think you could see there was something else going on here. I would think you'd want to protect Harry."

"That has always been," said Dumbledore gravely, "my primary concern. I have always sought to protect Harry from any harm that might come to him, physically or magically. But I cannot protect him from the ordinary disappointments of life, nor would I if I could."

"But that's what I'm saying," said Charlie in a low voice. "There's nothing ordinary about this. This behavior isn't like my brother, it certainly isn't like Hermione either. Obviously there's some outside manipulation going on. It might look like some irrelevant adolescent romantic tangle, but…"