Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

Draco paled slightly. His eyes darted almost imperceptibly towards Harry and Hermione. And she nearly jumped out of her skin in astonishment. She could have sworn Draco had not moved his lips, yet she could also have sworn he had suddenly spoken, have sworn she heard him say urgently to Harry, Get her out of here.

And Harry — Harry replied. Distract him.

Hermione felt Harry's hand slip into her hand — the one not holding the Lycanthe — his fingers tight on her own, although he didn't look at her.

Draco's pale eyes widened, then narrowed. He looked at Slytherin.

"Am I to take it, then," he asked coolly, "that the offer Wormtail made me still stands?"

At that, Slytherin seemed to tense. Hermione couldn't help staring at his hands. They were so long and pale and thin they looked like white tarantula legs. "You don't like being told what to do," said the Snake Lord softly. "But think on this. Join with me, and no one will ever be able to tell you what to do again. Not your father. Not anyone."

"My father's dead," said Draco flatly. He raised the sword like a barrier between himself and the Snake Lord. "As you well know."

"Honor your father's memory then, and join with me. It is what he wanted for you. What you were born for. Or have you no blood loyalty?"

Draco stood silently. He had gone very white, and for that moment Hermione thought that in fact he did look very much like Lucius, and even more like the man in her dream, who had sweated and screamed with the pain of the venom in his veins. But when he spoke, his voice was controlled and careful. "I have no loyalty to a line both weak and corrupt," he said. "I want more than that. Can you offer me more than that?"

Slytherin's eyebrows drew together. Unlike Draco, he did not seem controlled, merely detached. But all his attention was focused on Draco, that much was evident. Harry's hand tightened on Hermione's, and she felt him begin to draw her aside towards the door. They moved as silently as possible, not looking at each other, only inching, slowly, towards the door that led to the garden.

"Perhaps you do not understand what your dreams are telling you," said Slytherin to Draco. "Perhaps I need to tell you a story."

"Ooh, I like stories," said Draco. "Especially if it's one of those stories about a girls' boarding school and involves treacle and a pillow fight."

This time Slytherin merely looked as if he didn't understand. His long spidery fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides. Hermione wanted to scream at Draco for provoking him, even though she knew he was doing it on purpose. He had told Harry to get her out of there, Harry and Hermione were nearly at the door now. Draco didn't seem to be looking at either of them, but once again she heard his voice, as she had heard it before, speaking to Harry. Hurry up and get her out of here.

That's what I'm trying to do!

Draco turned his attention back to Slytherin. "You know, we've been awfully rude hosts," he said. "Can we offer you anything to drink?

Coffee? Tea? Hydrochloric acid?"

"You cannot kill me," Slytherin said.

"There are a lot of things I can't do," said Draco equably. "I can't ballroom dance. I can't see the point of pegged trousers. I can't understand why people own gerbils. I can't make a chocolate souffle that won't fall. I can't — "

"Your attempts to be funny are merely annoying," said Slytherin coldly. "But your attempts to distract me are actually dangerous.

Not for me — for you."

He raised his hand.

And several things happened at once. Draco moved back quickly, pushing Ginny behind him. Harry and Hermione reached the door and Harry stretched out his hand out for the knob. And Charlie made a sudden movement — out of startlement, perhaps, Hermione wasn't sure — and knocked the pot from the stove to the floor with a resounding crash.

Slytherin spun around and saw Harry and Hermione at the door. His hand whipped forward, and a jet of blackish light shot from his palm. It was like being hit head-on by a crashing wave, knocking them hard against the wall. Hermione heard more than felt the crack of her head against it, and doubled over, clutching her head in her arms, blinded by pain. Finally her vision cleared, and she blinked the tears out of her eyes, looking up -

To see Slytherin standing over her. He was looking down at her, and at Harry beside her and there was a very odd expression on his face indeed. Not quite satisfaction, not quite hatred, not quite something else.

"Get to your feet," he said.

Both Harry and Hermione stood. Hermione saw Draco and Ginny standing frozen on the stairs, watching. Draco had his hand on Ginny's arm. And Charlie had crossed the room to stand by Ron. He had a tight grip on Ron's arm and seemed to be preventing him from moving.

Slytherin took a step, not towards Hermione but towards Harry, who was standing very still, breathing hard, as if he had been running.

Slytherin snaked out one white hand, and, to Hermione's astonishment, ran the tip of his finger down the side of Harry's cheek. "I killed you," said the Snake Lord softly. "I watched your blood run out of you and over my hands. And it burned. My cousin." He took another step towards Harry, who seemed too shocked to move. "And with your dying thoughts you cursed me.

You well knew the power of the dying curse of one of our blood.

And I had always thought you were stupid."

Harry winced away from Slytherin's touch, his green eyes gone dark, nearly black. "I'm not Godric."

Slytherin took a hissing breath, and dropped his hand. "I know who you are," he said. "Harry Potter. You killed my basilisk, the first of my children, my creation. If you think my hatred for you is any less than my hatred for your forefather, you are much mistaken. You will die like he did, and go down into Hell swallowing curses."

Harry raised his chin. And then he spoke, but Hermione could not understand what he said — his voice came out on a hiss that sounded like a thousand slithering serpents. He was speaking Parseltongue.

Whatever he said, it struck a nerve with Slytherin. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he didn't move. Then he raised his hand and hit Harry across the face.

The sound was like a whip cracking in the nearly silent room. It galvanized Hermione; she leaped forward, pushing Harry aside, the Lycanthe in her hand, hurling herself at Slytherin-who smiled at her, and raised his hand again. A flash of blue light flew from his fingers, striking her in the chest and knocking her back against the wall. She heard Harry call out, and knew without knowing how she knew that he was talking to Draco as he had before — silently.

Give me the sword! Harry called.

And Draco's voice. Catch it.

A flash of green and silver. Harry raised his hand, and suddenly he was holding the sword, a little awkwardly, but tightly, in his right hand. She saw Slytherin, his face darkening, saw Harry raise the hand with the sword in it — and pause.

Because Charlie Weasley was suddenly standing in the middle of the room, directly between Slytherin and Harry. His arms were crossed; he faced Harry, almost as if — as if he were blocking the Snake Lord.

"Put the sword down, Harry," he said.

Harry looked flabbergasted. "But — Charlie — "

Charlie was pale as death, his eyes glittering darkly. "Harry," he hissed. "You don't know what you're doing."

He glanced back over his shoulder at Slytherin, who stood motionless, his eyes full of darting shadows. "Put the sword down."

Harry hesitated. His eyes flicked to the side, his grip on the sword loosening. And once again Hermione could have sworn that Draco called across the room to him, although his mouth did not move, and no one else seemed to hear. Don't do it.

And Harry replied. But it's Charlie -