Кассандра Клэр: Draco Sinister

Draco cocked his head. "Creative," he said.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Ginny and I don't get along together," said Draco.

"You get along worse apart," said Hermione. She reached up and patted his cheek, and he saw the momentary flash of darkness in her eyes that meant that this wasn't easy for her, either. "Just go and do it," she said, and walked away.

Draco turned around, and found himself facing Ginny and Aidan, who were swaying in time to the music. This was probably not coincidental, he mused, and probably why Hermione had made herself scarce. He stood for a moment, shoring up his confidence. It didn't take long- there was that to be said for being naturally arrogant.

He stepped forward, and tapped Aidan on the shoulder. "I'd like," he said evenly, "to cut in."

Aidan looked surprised. Ginny looked even more surprised. She did not, however, look displeased. Draco ignored whatever it was that Aidan muttered as he relinquished his place, stepping forward and putting his own arms around Ginny, resting his hands neatly on her waist, feeling the warmth of her against his chest. He looked down into her face, which was flushed from dancing, her eyes alight. Her hair, the color of firelight seen through a glass of red wine, spilled down over her shoulders, threaded through with strands of reflected gold. She had never looked prettier. Even if it didn´t work out with Ginny, he mused, he had a feeling he was at risk of developing a lifelong partiality for redheads.

After a long pause, she smiled at him. "I saw you dancing."

"Yes. Thank you for bringing that up."

"I don´t see why it bothers you so much. You dance well — really well. Look at Harry — he kept landing on Hermioneś feet."

"Hermione," said Draco, "would not mind if Harry stood on her feet all evening."

"And would you mind," she sad against his ear, "if I stood on your feet all evening?"

"I'm afraid not," he said.

Ginnyś mouth widened into a smile; he felt it against his neck.

"And why is that?"

"Itś the red hair," said Draco. "I seem to be defenseless against it."

"I think Ronś available for dancing," Ginny said. "If red hair is what you´re after."

I'm afraid Ron's gone off with that French tart," replied Draco equably. "You'll have to do."

Ginny pulled back a little, looking up into his face with her eyes wide and luminous with mischief. They had stopped dancing now, and he felt that heat, that thickening in his blood that always seemed to happen when she looked at him like this. "I'll have to do what?" she said.

"This," said Draco, and bent to kiss her.

But his lips only just brushed hers, sending a shower of sparks through his nerves, when a hand reached out and tapped Draco firmly on the shoulder. Pulling back, he straightened up and whirled around, ready to snap at the interloper, whoever he might be.

But it was a she. Before him stood a slender young woman with long black hair that spilled over her bare shoulders and the extremely low-cut bodice of her ruby-red gown. It was gathered it at her narrow waist with a thick gold chain that rode low over her hips, each link of which was a tiny golden poppy holding a ruby in its center. "Hallo, Draco," she said. "Do you remember me?"

Draco goggled at her. He wanted to snap at her, but there was something about her demeanor that held him back. She looked oddly familiar, and yet he couldn´t place her at all. "Who are you?"

he demanded, knowing he sounded impolite, but then it had been rather impolite of this witch to interrupt an obviously private moment.

"I'm Rhysenn Malfoy," she said, a smile teasing the corner of her red-painted mouth. "Your cousin."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're from the Singapore branch of the family, aren't you," he said, recalling that the gold-and-ruby poppies had been the symbol adopted by those Malfoys who had moved east into Singapore in the 1800's to make a killing by exporting illegal Chinese Fireball dragon's blood.

"You do remember me," she breathed. "Would you like to dance?"

Draco felt Ginny tense in his arms. "I´m already committed for this dance," he said. "As should be obvious."

Rhysennś smile widened. "Oh no," she said, and held out a slender hand. "I don´t think you are."

For a moment he simply looked at her in surprise. Then his gaze moved to her outstretched hand, and he stiffened.

On the fourth finger of her right hand she wore a signet ring in the shape of a griffin. The signet was the griffin's back, on which an M was engraved, wound round with tiny serpents. The griffin's wings made the band of the ring, which was carved entirely out of a single piece of onyx. He knew the ring; it had been his father's. His father had been wearing it the day that he died.

The breath went out of Draco in a whooshing gasp; he was unconscious of his hand going slack in Ginnyś, or her startled eyes on his face.

"Dance with me," said Rhysenn, and her eyes held a warning.

For a long moment, he hesitated. Then, recollecting himself, he turned back to Ginny. "Gin, I — "

Without letting him finish, Ginny whipped her hands out of his with a snap. "Itś fine," she said tightly. "Aidan will be wondering where I am, anyway."

She flounced off. Draco looked after her in mingled disappointment and annoyance. Why did she always fly off the handle and think the worst of him immediately? Did explanations count for nothing?

Feeling rebellious, he took Rhysenn's hand. Her slender fingers closed tightly around his and he could feel the imprint of her sharp nails on his skin. "Letś dance," he said.

He let her lead him out onto the dance floor, where she immediately threw her arms around him and yanked him against her, pressing their bodies so tightly together he would have been astonished if a sliver of light had been able to penetrate the nearly nonexistent distance between them. She was wearing a very sweet, very heavy perfume that made him think of jasmine and sandalwood and created a slight dizziness behind his eyes. He tried to focus on her face, which was a bit difficult given his lightheadedness. With her black hair and red lips she looked a little like a banshee, but her gray eyes were pure Malfoy.

She tilted her head back and let her red lips brush his ear. "Draco," she whispered. "Are you ready to hear what I have to tell you?"

He tried to pull back, but she clung on like a limpet. "That depends on what it is."

She pouted a little. "You´re no fun," she complained. "Whereś the famous Draco Malfoy charm I´ve heard so much about?"

"I´ve generally found it necessary to tone it down at crowded events," said Draco dryly. "It can be dangerous."

"To women especially, I imagine."

"Yes. Occasionally they injure themselves in their frenzy to disrobe."

"Like that little redhead you were kissing?"

Draco stopped dead in the middle of a dance step, and tightened his grip on her hands. She winced, but kept smiling. "I think itś time you told me what you came here to tell me," he said tightly. "You talk, or I leave."

She tossed her hair back. "Itś a message," she said. "You might not like it."

He raised his eyebrows. "Not another of those death threat things," he said lightly. "Harry and I seem to have been getting a lot of those lately. 'Die, die, spawn of evil,' all that sort of thing, it's really very boring."

"No," she smiled. "This is a message you need to receive."

Draco began to pull away politely. "I don't think so-"

"The message," she purred, "is hidden inside my bodice, if you'd care to try to find it."

Draco looked at her sideways. Her bodice was so tight, he couldn't imagine how she could fit so much as a tissue in there, much less a substantial piece of parchment.

"I know I have a reputation," he said. "But I do not grope strange women on public dance floors, even if they are related to me.