Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

You can't trust him.

Of course I can.

Hermione's head suddenly jerked up, and she stared at the clock on the wall. There were the nine hands that indicated each member of the Weasley family — Percy's hand was on "work", Bill's said "travelling" and Ron and Ginny's hands were clustered together at "mortal peril." But Charlie's -

Charlie's hand just said "home."

"Drop the sword before you get us all killed," repeated Charlie, not taking his eyes off Harry's face. "Don't play the hero, Harry — is it worth Ron's life, and Hermione's, and Ginny's?"

Harry went white.

"Don't!" shrieked Hermione, scrambling up to her knees, "Don't listen to him, Harry!"

Harry was breathing as if he had been running. His hands were livid on the hilt of the sword. "Charlie-I can't-"

And Charlie lunged at him, knocking Harry back into the wall, his hand outstretched for the sword. Harry, looking utterly stunned, twisted sideways -

And Charlie leaped back, clutching the sword in his right hand.

Hermione heard Ron yell out "Charlie! No! Don't touch it!" as he flung himself toward his brother, knocking him to the ground, the sword rattling out of Charlie's grasp and skittering away across the kitchen floor. Charlie heaved up with his arms, shoving Ron off him, and scrambled to his knees, reaching out for the sword. There was a flash of movement, and suddenly Draco was there, grabbing at the sword. But Charlie, looking panicked, seized it first — he raised it in his hand, swung it towards Slytherin, calling "Master! It is here!" -

then there was a flash of green light brighter than any light Hermione had ever seen, and she heard Ginny scream, and then there was silence.

Hermione covered her face with her hands. "That's all I remember."

Sirius rocked back on his heels, his face bleak. "Jesus," he said.

"Charlie? Charlie Weasley? I don't believe it." He glanced towards the kitchen, and she could see through the open door the huddled, blanket-shrouded form that had to be Charlie's body. "It must have been the Imperius Curse."

Hermione hesitated. "I don't know."

Sirius' hands were shaking. He looked from Charlie, back over to Hermione. "He offered the sword to Slytherin? He called him

'Master'?"

Hermione nodded. "I heard him. We all heard him. And Sirius -

earlier, when Charlie took the Lycanthe from me, said a very odd-sounding spell over it."

"Can you remember it?"

Hermione nodded. "Monitum ex quod audiri nequit."

Sirius put his head in his hands. When he looked up, his dark eyes were blank. "That's a Clairaudience Charm," he said. "It opens a line of communication between the speaker and someone far away."

Hermione nodded. "I think he was communicating something to Slytherin," she said.

He winced. "I can't bear the thought of waking them up," and she knew he meant Ron and Ginny. "I hope for Molly and Arthur's sake that it was the Imperius Curse."

Hermione sat up slowly, feeling her head spin. "I don't think it was," she heard herself say.

Sirius glanced over at her. "You don't think Charlie-"

"No," interrupted Hermione. She got to her feet, refusing Sirius' offer of assistance, crossed the room and walked through the open door into the kitchen. She heard Sirius get to his feet and follow her, pausing in the doorway to watch as she tilted her head back, and looked up at the clock on the wall.

Ron's and Ginny's hands had returned to the "home" position.

Percy's said "work", Fred and George's "travelling", and Bill's… Bill's said 'home." And next to his, was Charlie's, also at "home."

She bit her lip and turned slowly to the huddled, blanket-wrapped figure on the floor. Then she knelt down by it, and with a swift decisive gesture, yanked the blanket off.

Sirius leaped in surprise. "Hermione! What are you doing?"

But she was examining Charlie's body. It was still, already cold, his face slack as if in sleep. Suppressing a shudder, she reached out, took hold of his stiff right hand, and turned it over, palm-up.

It was unmarked.

Sirius was staring at her. "What on earth?"

She dropped the hand, got to her feet. "Charlie touched the sword," she said. "He's not a Magid. It should have burned him."

Sirius shook his head. "Hermione, I don't-"

She knew what to do now. She hurried across the room to the fireplace. Ranged along the top of the mantel were seven identical jars, each one labeled with the name of a Weasley child: starting with Bill at the left and ending with Ginny on the right. Hermione picked up one of the silver bottles, flicked it open with her thumb, shook some powder into her hand, and tossed the sparkling handful into the wizarding fire that always burned in the Weasleys' fireplace.

The flames turned orange, then blue, and a single sharp musical note resonated through the room. Hermione waited, holding her breath — the flames darkened suddenly, and solidified, and then a head and shoulders emerged from the fire, a familiar face turned towards her, blinking and astonished-looking, pushing the dark red hair back from his eyes as he stared at her in surprise. "Hermione," he said. "What's going on? Usually only my mum uses this way of getting in touch with me. Is something the matter?"

Hermione released the breath she had been holding.

"Hello, Charlie," she said.

Light came first, singing the backs of his eyelids, and then pain -

aching pain, in his shoulders, back and legs, as if he'd been thrown hard against a wall. Maybe he had. Harry opened his eyes slowly, and the world danced around him in a whirl of color — primarily blue, with lesser patches of green, black and red.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. He was in a room, quite a large one, the walls and floor of which seemed to be made up of smooth blue marble. Black velvet tapestries depended from the walls, picked out in patterns of silver. There was quite a lot of unnecessary, heavy rosewood-looking furniture scattered around the room — chairs, tables, long benches, and a huge, heavy-looking oak wardrobe with two enormous doors that stood propped against the far wall. The ceiling was so high it disappeared into a cavernous dark emptiness.

There were no doors that he could see, and no windows.

"Good morning," said a familiar voice in his ear. "Or maybe afternoon, or maybe night, it's bloody impossible to tell in this place. How's your head?"

Harry looked around. That hurt too. Draco was sitting near him, leaning his back against one of the blue marble walls. He looked unharmed. He was still barefoot, and Harry saw that there was blood on his shirt, as well as long black burned streaks as if he had been dragged through ashes. Harry wondered again what had happened after they blacked out. The last thing he remembered was bright green light -

He shivered. "My head? Rotten. Where are we?"

"I'm not sure."

"How did we get here?"

Draco replied with a shrug.

Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, and felt something sticky on his chest. He glanced down and saw that the sleeve of his white shirt was bloody — mostly dried, stiff blood, but some new.

Either we haven't been here that long, he calculated, or I'm still bleeding. He pulled his sleeve up, saw the long cut along the side of his arm, oozing dark blood, and winced.

As if triggered by the sight of his own blood, memory began to come back to him, and with it, fear. He looked up at Draco. "Hermione," he said. "Ron — and Ginny. Are they — "

Draco looked away. "I don't know." Avoiding Harry's gaze, he stood up. His bare feet made no noise on the blue stone floor as he crossed the room, running his hand along the wall — looking for gaps or chinks, Harry imagined. He was reminded of a cat, curiously prowling the borders of new territory.