Кассандра Клэр: Draco Sinister

Reflexively, she seized it, and stared —

"Ducky socks?" she said, looking down at them. Cotton, white with a print of yellow ducks, and a small hole in the left toe.

"They're clean," said Draco.

"They're socks," said Ginny. "With ducks."

"Put them on," said Draco, and so calmly did he say it that Ginny found herself sitting down on the bed, and drawing the socks onto her feet. No sooner were they on, then Draco waved his hand at them — there was a bright sharp flash of light, and where the ducky socks had been, a pair of transparent crystal shoes, delicate and prismlike, sparkled on her feet.

Ginny looked from the sparkling shoes to Draco, and then back at her feet, and then back at Draco. Whose expression was unreadable.

Whose whole personality was often as illegible as a book written in Parseltongue: a boy who could conjure up butterflies only to burn them to death, but thought nothing of sacrificing his own life for someone else's, whose clever tongue could flatter a friend or cut apart an enemy with equal deftness, who loved as fiercely as he hated, and hated as fiercely as he loved. A bundle of contradictions was Draco Malfoy, but then, so were most people…weren't they?

"Glass slippers," she said, finally. "Cute, if not original."

"I thought it was better to go with the old standards," said Draco.

"But they're really ducky socks," said Ginny.

"Nobody needs to know that," said Draco, "but you and me."

He held out his hand to her again, and this time, she took it.

"Harry Potter and Hermione Granger!"

"Rubeus Hagrid and Madame Olympe Maxime!"

"Arthur and Molly Weasley!"

"Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour!"

"Remus Lupin and Heidi Howard!"

"Angelina Johnson and Fred Weasley!"

"George Weasley and….. that is young mister Weasley isn´t it?"

Anton the ghostly butler, who had been having a delightful time bellowing out the name of each couple as they descended the floating marble staircase into the ballroom, stammered for a moment and paused. Not surprisingly, since George had taken advantage of his moment of limelight to show off the newest product of Weasleyś Wizard Wheezes: Penguin Peppermints.

Jana, his pretty and long-suffering girlfriend, held her satin wrap well away from the beady-eyed pinniped squatting next to her on the stairs. "Why, George?" she wailed in a despairing tone. "Why?"

With a *pop* the penguin turned back into George, looking immaculate in a Kenneth Troll black velvet suit. "I´m sorry, darling," he said repentantly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Humph," said Jana, and flounced down the steps, trailing her celadon-green satin evening dress. George hurried after her.

At the top of the stairs, Honoria, Percyś fiancé, turned to him with a severe expression on her delicate features.

"Honestly, Percy. I cannot bear that brother of yours."

"Yes," agreed Percy, resplendent in pinstripe Armani trousers and suspenders. He looked as if he were attempting not to laugh. "Very trying, the twins are."

"You would never turn into a penguin at a public dinner party, would you?"

"Certainly not, dear. An otter, possibly. Never a penguin."

Whatever Honoria might have wanted to say in response was drowned out by Anton's bellow:

"Percival Weasley and Honoria Glossop!"

They descended, and joined Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasley offspring at the bottom of the stairs. Bill and Fleur were holding hands; Angelina, stunning in a silver sheath dress, was watching as Fred gave Harry his birthday present. Harry opened the box and looked at the contents dubiously.

"More glasses?" he said, lifting a pair of spectacles out of the box. "Is this your way of telling me my specs are unflattering? Because I already knew that."

"Then why do you wear them?" Honoria asked, her petite nose in the air, as it often was. "Why not get yourself a new set? You could certainly afford them."

"Because Hermione adores my old ones. Don´t you, Hermione?"

"Passionately," said Hermione absently. She was staring across the room at Professor Lupin, who was looking rather uncomfortable with the date Narcissa had set him up with: her old school friend Heidi, an attractive but rather flashy-looking witch in backless gold robes. "Do you think Professor Lupin needs rescuing?"

Harry looked over and grinned. "Nah," he said heartlessly, as Heidi tried to convince Lupin to join a conga line forming at the far end of the room. Lupin, looking as if someone had fed him a wolfsbane quiche, shook his head. "Itś good for him."

"Look," said Fred, waving a hand to get Harryś attention. "These aren´t just any specs, Harry, these are Weasleyś X-Ray Specs. You can use them to see through anything."

"Like Mad-Eye Moodyś eye?" asked Ron, looking fascinated.

"Right," said George, and put them on. "For instance, at this very moment, I can see that Honoria is wearing leopard-print underwear."

Honoria looked appalled. "I am not!"

"Oh, yes you are," said George.

"Now, then," said Percy ineffectually.

"I am not!" Honoria repeated, turning sideways and appealing to Fleur. "I´m not!"

Fleur shrugged. "Zere is nothing wrong with leopard- print underwear," she said breezily. "I am wearing some myself."

"Argh," said Honoria, and flounced away, followed by Percy.

Harry looked suspiciously at George. "Do those things really work?"

George grinned. "I think they work extremely well," he said.

Hermione giggled. Fleur squealed. It took everyone a moment to realize that she was squealing not at the twins´ witticisms, but at a girl who had just joined their party. She was a small, dark-haired, very pretty girl in long white robes embroidered all over with tiny bluebirds and starlings.

"Monique!" Fleur exclaimed, seized the girl, and kissed her on both cheeks. Then she turned to the rest of the group with a smile, "Zis is my cousin, Monique. Monique, you know Bill, and zis is 'Arry Potter of course, and Ron Weasley, and — "

"Could I see your scar?" Monique said, so suddenly that everyone jumped, and looked at Harry.

"Erm…" Harry began. And paused. Because she wasn´t looking at him; she was looking at Ron, and rather expectantly at that.

Ron looked utterly alarmed. "What?"

Monique pointed at his hand. "Your scar," she said. "Can I see it?"

Very slowly, Ron held out his right hand. It was certainly an impressive scar, despite having healed very quickly. All along the palm of his hand the pattern of Slytherinś sword hilt had been burned: a carved serpent ran between his wrist and the tip of his thumb, backed by the faint imprint of a circle.

"Oooooh," said Monique, taking his hand. "I 'ave never seen anything like that. Fleur told me all about 'ow brave you were, picking up Slytherinś sword like that. You practically defeated a dementor all by yourself!"

"Well, I, er," said Ron, who was pink around the ears, "I mean, I didn´t — "

Harry stepped firmly on his foot.

"There were three dementors, actually," Ron finished weakly.

Moniqueś huge blue eyes widened. "Dance with me," she breathed, and whisked Ron away with such rapidity and force that one was left to wonder if she had used an Accio Ron! spell without anyone noticing.

Hermione stared after them, looking shocked. "Well, really," she said, sounding just a shade indignant, as Monique cozied up to Ron on the dance floor. "I can´t believe he´d fall for her act."

"Which act?" grinned Angelina. "The showing up wearing a low-cut dress and behaving as if heś the most wonderful thing in the world act? Because you´d be shocked how many guys would fall for that."

"I resent that broad generalization," said Fred, appearing, then paused and whistled. He was looking up at the top of the stairs, and the rest of them followed his gaze just as Anton bellowed out, "Charlie Weasley and Rhysenn Malfoy!"