Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

Harry's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. Ron, however, was glaring at her. "Go back to reading, Hermione," he snapped.

"You are not being helpful."

"Knowledge is power, Ron," she said primly. "Besides, this stuff is really fascinating." She tapped a book page with her finger.

"Slytherin was called the Snake Lord, whether from his ability to transform into a serpent or his habit of keeping snakes as pets, is unclear. Another school of thought holds that the moniker dates from his having survived the bite of the deadly Green Diamond snake, whose venom is known to be fatal."

"Still waiting to be fascinated," said Ron, coming to stand behind her chair and peering, without much interest, at her book.

Hermione made a face at him. "Slytherin did survive being bitten by a snake," she said haughtily. "And it left a scar on his arm that later became the inspiration for the Dark Mark he used to identify his followers. He would sear the mark into their skin with the Bruciatura charm. Don't you find that interesting?"

"On the contrary," grinned Harry. "I think I speak for us all when I yawn and falls asleep."

Ron grinned. "Well, if they ever start a new class at school called

'Defeating Evil By Reading a Lot', Herm, you'll be top of our year."

"Ron, I already am top of our year."

"I knew that," said Ron. "Who's second, anyway?"

Hermione smiled quietly down at her book. "Draco."

"Malfoy?" echoed Ron, and even Harry looked surprised.

"Uh-huh," said Hermione.

Hermione flipped her book closed and grinned at the boys. "Both of you,' she said, "would be right at the top of our class as well if you studied. And making up fake prophecies for Divination does not count as you well know."

"Study?" echoed Harry in mock horror. "And suck all the fun out of being young and stupid?"

Hermione smiled at him. "You won't always be young, you know," she said.

"No," agreed Ron. "But we'll always be stupid." He paused. "Okay, not everybody rush to disagree."

Hermione yawned. "I'm done reading anyway." She pushed the book away and leaned against Harry's shoulder. "Actually, I could use a nap."

"Me too," Harry agreed, and kissed the top of her head.

"Dinner is ready," announced Charlie, and as he reached to take the lid off the cooking pot the porch door banged open and Salazar Slytherin walked into the house.

Sirius looked at Hermione incredulously. "What, just like that? He just walked in?"

Hermione nodded dully. "Yes. He just walked in."

Sirius frowned. "Go on."

The door slammed shut. The sound echoed inside Hermione's head, which seemed at the moment like a vast empty cave of shock. It was as if a knife had dropped, severing the material of her immediate experience into two perfect halves. One moment, she was sitting at the Weasleys' comfortable, battered kitchen table, her hand on Harry's, Ron standing behind her. And the next moment that world seemed to fall away entirely and all around her was a black void lit by crackling lightning.

And there, facing them all across the darkness, was Slytherin.

Hermione stared, barely aware of the reactions of the others in the room — Charlie backing away from the stove, Harry seizing her arm, Ron frozen, rigid with astonishment. She only saw Slytherin.

She could barely recollect him as he had been before, it was too hard to piece the shards of dread, revulsion and terror into any cohesive memory. But she recalled his dark, sad, empty eyes, recalled feeling pity mixed with the horror and the hatred. He had seemed empty, a hollow shell. But now. Now he was vivid, charged with menace and dark power, and it was entirely possible to see exactly why a whole magical community had once held him in terror and feared to speak his name. Even his face was different; he looked as he had in her dream of him, vital with dark energy, bright-eyed with fever and malice. And young. Was it possible that he looked younger? He more strongly resembled Draco now, in the sharp lines of his face, the angry curves of his bones.

What had happened? she thought in panic. What had changed him?

He wore black robes embroidered with stars and moons and winding serpents, but his hands were bare. He carried no wand. His eyes met hers across the room. "Rowena," he said.

Harry was on his feet so fast Hermione barely saw him move; he pushed her behind him, hard, and her back struck the wall. He gripped her arm with one hand behind his back, the other, his right hand, was outstretched in front of him. Hermione could see over his shoulder the clock on the Weasleys' wall, its face a blur as the hands that were Ron and Ginny spun around to indicate "mortal peril."

Icy terror gripped her stomach and she could feel her heart slamming against her ribs like a captive animal. She lifted her right hand and clasped the Lycanthe with it, shutting her eyes. I won't let Slytherin take me, she thought. I'd rather let him kill me.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Harry spoke. "I won't let you take her," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "You'll have to go through me."

"And me," said Ron from behind her.

Charlie, standing by the stove, was silent. His hands were balled into tight fists at his side and his green eyes followed Slytherin's progress across the room with a look Hermione couldn't decipher.

It was as if they Ron and Harry not spoken. Slytherin continued walking towards Harry and Hermione. He moved like a Dementor, she thought frantically. Like a silent black shadow. His cloak was more than black, it was several shades darker than black. It seemed to draw in all the light in the room. Above it, his skin was corpse-white. She felt Harry's grip on her hands tighten unbearably, and then-A scream split the room.

Hermione's head whipped around.

Ginny was standing on the bottom stair, eyes wide, her hand over her mouth, staring at Slytherin. There was an expression of utter horror on her face.

"Ginny-" Ron began to move forward, but at a sharp gesture from Charlie, froze in place.

Slytherin turned and began to walk towards Ginny. "Helga," he said, his eyes as bleak and dark as wounds in his face. "You were kindest of them all. And yet, in the end, you betrayed me too."

Ginny reached out and snatched up a chair, holding it between her and the Snake Lord. "Don't come near me," she hissed, fiercely.

"Or what? You will strike me with that rather cheap-looking piece of furniture? Go right ahead. You cannot hurt me."

As quietly as she could, Hermione began to fumble in her pockets for her wand. She couldn't just stand there and watch Slytherin advance on Ginny -

"She said not to come near her," came a quiet voice from behind Ginny. "But then I guess listening isn't one of your strong points."

Slytherin paused.

The shadows parted, and Draco stepped forward onto the stairs, moving slowly and deliberately. He had changed out of his pajamas but his feet were bare, and in his hand was the sword.

He's still weak, Hermione thought. He still hurts, and that's why he's moving so slowly, but he continued down the stairs as if nothing were wrong, as if his slowness of pace was nothing more than an expression of insolence. "I mean, sure you can turn into a big snake and all. But really quality listening, you know, that's important too."

He was standing on the bottom stair now, next to Ginny. She was still holding the chair. Draco didn't look at her, although he was obviously very aware that she was there. But his eyes were fixed on Slytherin. "You came here for me," he said in a clear, quiet voice.

"Why don't you let the rest of them go?"

Slytherin smiled. It was much worse than Hermione had thought it would be. "What makes you think I came here for you?"