Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"Then don´t behave as if you are. You have powers many would kill to possess. Use them. Do what you like with them."

"Nice try," Draco said bitterly. "You can´t do good with powers that come from Hell."

"Why not? There are angels of death, as there are angels of destruction. And all demons were angels once, and will be again some day. Perhaps you are neither one thing nor the other, neither angel nor demon, purely evil nor purely good, but you are the Heir of Slytherin and you belong to me. You have powers. Use them."

"Why?" Draco demanded. He could feel his face flush with angry blood. "So I can be like you? Why, when it gives me no pleasure to use them? Maybe you like calling up the powers of Hell, but I don´t.

I wouldn´t be happy, being what you are. Did that occur to you?"

"And are you happy now?" Slytherinś voice had dropped several octaves, turned silky and quiet. "I could make her love you," he said, and Draco flinched. "The love potion was unsatisfactory, I know, since she knew its falsity. It was meant as a punishment, after all.

But I could make her love you and know no difference."

Draco closed his eyes, seeing Hermione in her red dress as she had come to him in the clearing at the dragon camp, recalling the look on her face, misery twisted with longing, and the traitorous elation he had felt knowing that emotion was for him, those tears for him, not for Harry this time.

"No." He opened his eyes, blinking away the memory of Hermione.

"There is a price," he said, "for happiness such as that."

"There is a price for everything," said Slytherin. "For every advantage given to you, you will pay. For your looks, a price. For your talents, a price. For your strength, a price. For that second gift of life which returned you from death, a price. You are in debt to the balance of things, Draco Malfoy. You have been given more than you deserve. You were meant to pay that debt out in service. Service to me. It is what you were destined for. Fight it, and you will pay another and a worse way. What do you think will happen to the gifts you´ve been given, Draco, if you don´t use them?"

Draco heard his fatherś voice in his mind. What happens to a clock if you wind it backwards? It breaks.

"Shut up!" Draco heard his own voice as if it came from far away, forced out through chattering teeth. "I don´t want to hear any more."

"Then don´t hear any more," said Slytherin coldly. "See."

He turned and pointed his hand at the far wall where the heavy carved screens stood, their brilliant designs of writhing dragons so bright it hurt Dracoś eyes, the backs of which felt as if they had been rubbed with sandpaper.

A spark shot from Slytherinś hand, and the screens ratcheted back, folding outward to reveal what had been hidden behind them.

It was a mirror. Draco took a few steps forward, gazing in curiosity.

As he approached it, the mirror seemed to grow both in size and familiarity. It was as tall as he was, shaped like an upright diamond and thickly framed in gold, and stood on two large clawed feet. A great deal of artistry had gone into the carving of the frame, which was alive with the shapes of leaves and animals. Above the peak of the mirror were three carved words: Nosce Te Ipsum.

It seemed, he realized, very similar to the Mirror of Erised — at which he had only glanced when he had seen it that once at Hogwarts, knowing what it was and what he would see in it, and what Hermione wouldn´t. But the image of it was burned into his brain.

How, he wondered, could this be a torture device? "You know, thereś this thing about me, I actually like looking in mirrors. Call me insane, but — "

"You are not insane. Just very, very irritating." Slytherin reached out and grasped Draco by the arm, dragging him forward so that he stood in front of the mirror, staring down at his feet.

"This is not the Mirror you are thinking of," said Slytherin, behind him, his cold breath on Dracoś neck making him shudder. "This is not the Mirror of Desire, that shows men the wish of their hearts.

This mirror was made at the same time as that mirror, to be its opposite. This mirror does not show you what you want. Quite the contrary." His hand slid around Dracoś neck to clasp his chin, and force his head up. "This mirror is called the Mirror of Judgement. It shows you what you really are."

What you really are.

A shudder like a bolt of lightning went through Draco, and he tried to twist away, but Slytherin held him hard in a grip like iron, his arm across Dracoś throat. "No. I won´t look."

"You will."

"I won´t."

"Open your eyes," hissed the Snake Lord, and shook Draco hard.

Dracoś eyes flew open.

And he looked.

Stepping out of Rowenaś tent, the icy brilliance of the cold blue sky stung Ginnyś eyes. She glanced around uneasily for Ron, and saw him almost immediately — as always, his flame-red hair marked him out like a beacon. He was sitting on a long wooden bench, talking animatedly to a large group of -

"Veelas?" said Ginny, widening her eyes in surprise. "Here?"

"They´ve been hanging around since the Snake Lord was defeated," said Benjamin, who had come up behind them silently. There were flakes of white snow caught in his black hair. "No one can seem to get them to go away."

Hermione stepped out of the tent behind Ginny, snapping the flap shut. She must have caught Benjaminś last remark, because she snorted. "Doesn´t look like Ronś trying too hard," she snapped.

"Does it?"

Ginny was inclined to agree. Ron looked as if he were having the time of his life, surrounded by beautiful girls who were all looking at him admiringly. His cheeks were bright red with cold and he was gesturing animatedly as he talked, describing elaborate parabolas in the air with his freckled hands. "Heś probably telling them that he invented punctuation," Hermione added irritably. "Or the wheel. Or

— "

Benjamin widened his dark eyes. "You mean he isn´t really the youngest Minister of Magic ever in your time?"

Ginny chortled while Hermione sputtered indignantly. "What! Ron?

Honestly!"

"Oh come on, Hermione, itś harmless," Ginny grinned.

"It is not," Hermione exclaimed, and poked Benjamin in the shoulder. "Go…retrieve him, would you?"

Giving her a very "Why me?" look, Benjamin trudged off towards Ron.

Ginny giggled, but stopped when she realized that Hermione was still bristling all over like an angry cat. "Hermione, really," she said, as diplomatically as she could. "You can´t fly off the handle every time any girl so much as looks at one of your guys, you know. Well, unless itś Harry."

"I do not," Hermione began indignantly, then stopped, and smiled ruefully. "Oh, all right. I know what you mean. Itś just that…well, itś Ron. And heś my best friend, and he deserves better than some empty-headed veela trollop." She grinned. "Not that they´re necessarily all trollops, but you know….I just want him to have somebody as wonderful as he is. I want him to have the best."

"Oh." Ginny felt a burst of affection for Hermione. With all their bickering, it was sometimes hard to remember how much Ron and Hermione really cared for each other. But they did. "Does that extend to Draco, too?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, and Ginny turned to look at her. Her dark eyelashes were fringed with whiteness: ash, and snow, and her luminous pale skin glowed in the brilliant sunlight. The Lycanthe glinted silver against her throat. She looked very pretty, and very in control. Ginny bit her lip and plowed on. "Well, itś just that I mean, me and Draco…if there was a me and Draco…and I´m not saying there is… but if there was…"

"Ginny," said Hermione firmly, leaned forward, and kissed her on the forehead. "You are the best."