Кассандра Клэр: Draco Sinister

"Well, tell him hi from me when you write back," said Ginny, and became very interested in cleaning up the coffee Pigwidgeon had spilled.

Ron was scanning his own letter from Harry. "He says Fleur's a student there," he said. "I think Bill did tell me something about that, actually. I'd forgotten."

"Are she and Bill still together?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. They're on, they're off, it's hard to tell. I think they're off at the moment, actually."

Hermione scowled. She did not like the idea of an unattached Fleur being anywhere within ten miles of Harry. Or Draco. Although Draco was part veela himself and could probably fight her off better than Harry could. Also, it was none of her business what Draco did, she thought to herself, but really…he could do better than Fleur, she just knew he could.

With a mental shrug, she picked up the second letter Pigwidgeon had brought her. It was tied with a black velvet ribbon and her name was written in a slanting, almost-familiar hand. As she read it through, her mouth opened in surprise. "Well, that's odd!" she exclaimed.

"What's odd?" asked Ginny.

"It's from Viktor Krum," said Hermione.

Now Ron looked up as well.

"He's in London," said Hermione. "He wants to meet me for coffee at the Leaky Cauldron. He's staying there for a few days. He says he has something important to tell me."

"Oh, Harry's going to love that," said Ron, grinning.

"Don't be silly, Ron," said Hermione, putting down the letter with a frown. "I haven't even seen Viktor in two years. And last I heard, he had a girlfriend."

"Are you sure he doesn't want to meet you so he can tell you he loffs you again?" said Ron teasingly.

"Quite sure," said Hermione, still frowning. "Well, I wouldn't mind seeing Viktor…and Ginny, didn't you say you wanted to go shopping in London? We could go together."

"Sure," said Ginny, and Ron added quickly, "I have to go to Diagon Alley anyway to get a kit for my new broom. We can all go."

"Okay," said Hermione. "Just let me write a quick letter first."

She ran upstairs to the spare room she was staying in. Although the Weasleys hadn't moved out of the Burrow when Fred and George's joke shop turned out to be so successful, they had added a number of extra rooms. From the outside, the house now looked more like a lopsided birthday cake than ever. Hermione's room was one of the new ones, and she liked it very much: it was round, with a stained-glass oriole window that depicted a weasel sleeping on a rock in the sun.

She sat down at the desk, took out a piece of paper, and started to write Dear Harry… and stopped. She wasn't very good at writing love letters, but she wanted to be a bit more affectionate than "dear". Especially if he was hanging around with Fleur. Couldn't hurt to remind him exactly whose Harry he was. She tried Darling Harry, but that looked stupid. Then she tried Harry, my love, but that was awful, and she scrunched the whole letter up into a ball and threw it on the floor. She tried again, with a new piece of paper, Dearest Harry…

Well, that looked all right. She scribbled the rest of the letter quickly, wrote a quick note to Draco, and bolted out of the room, nearly colliding with Ron on the stairs. "Hermione! Slow down!"

"Ron, can I borrow Pig?" she said quickly. "I'm sorry I stepped on your toe," she added, as an afterthought.

"I just sent Pig off to Fred and George with a letter. But you can borrow my mum's owl. Hey, Hermione, what's that?"

"What's what?"

"That," said Ron, and put his hand on her neck, where the collar of her shirt ended. It took her a moment to realize that he was fingering the thin gold chain around her throat. "You don't usually wear jewelry."

"Oh," she said. "This," and drew out the pendant that hung on the end of the chain. "It's Draco's Epicyclical Charm," she said, a little self-consciously. "He gave it to me."

Ron goggled at her. "Isn't that a little weird?" he said. "I mean, what if you dropped it, or forgot it somewhere, or…"

"Ron!" Hermione glared at him. "Like I'd ever do that. Anyway, Dumbledore put some charms on it, so it can't be lost or misplaced or damaged. I can't even take it off, and no one else can take it off me except either Dumbledore or Draco himself. It's charmed that way."

"I think you should just have given it to Dumbledore," said Ron, eyeing the Charm with mistrust. "Or Draco should have kept it.

Can't he cart his own nasty little lethal object around with him?"

"I tried to give it to Dumbledore. But he said it was Draco's to do what he wanted with. And I don't think Draco wanted to keep it, it probably reminds him of horrid things, like his dad." She shuddered.

Ron took his hand off her neck and started to walk down the stairs.

"Have I told you lately how extremely glad I am that you didn't end up dating Malfoy?"

"Only about six zillion times," said Hermione, following him.

"Honestly, I think you're gladder than Harry is."

"I have my reasons," said Ron, and before Hermione could ask him to elaborate, he was yelling for Ginny to hurry up and bring the Floo Powder because it was time for them to get going.

The brown barn owl swooped in through an open window and landed, hooting, on the table next to Harry, who was sitting in the Students' Hall, eating lunch. It had two letters tied to its left leg, both rolled into neat little tubes and fastened with different-colored ribbons.

Harry glanced up and across the table at Draco, who was deep in conversation with Fleur Delacoeur. "Letters, Malfoy," he said.

Draco looked up and grinned. "Toss me mine," he said.

Harry unfastened one of the letters and threw it to Draco. Both of them knew who the letters were from; that went without saying.

Hermione was an eminently fair girl. When she wrote, she always wrote to both of them, one letter for Harry, one for Draco. Harry's letter would be tied with a red ribbon, Draco's with silver. Harry occasionally wished that she would send him maybe two letters for every one she sent Draco, just to make a point, but that wasn't in Hermione's nature to do. She was a scrupulous sort of person.

Harry watched Draco open his letter, read it, and stick it in his pocket, all without changing expression. Harry would have given a sackful of galleons to see what was in that letter, but he would rather have died than admit it. After all, he trusted Hermione. She was his girlfriend. She loved him. Right?

Fleur looked from Harry to Draco with bright blue eyes. Harry knew she was probably nearly as interested as he was in seeing what Hermione had written to Draco. She had attached herself to Draco the first day they had arrived at school. Spotting him standing next to Harry, she had swooped over to them, crying, ""Ello, 'Arry! Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Harry had made the introductions, and Draco had shaken Fleur's hand while she beamed at him and tossed her shining silver hair.

"Malfoy," Fleur had said. "I know that name, that is a French name.

Is your family French?"

Draco had admitted that at one time, they probably had been.

"You are part-veela, are you not?" Fleur continued. "I am as well. I am sure we are related, I have brothers who look just like you. I take one look at you across the hall and think to myself, "That is a beautiful boy, he must be related to me!"

Fleur said this with no shred of humility. She was just as conceited as Draco, which in Harry's opinion lent a certain credibility to her assurance that they shared family.

"I think she fancies you," he had said to Draco once Fleur had gone, but Draco had shaken his head.

"We're both part-veela, we're immune to each other's charms," he'd said. "She just likes me because I look like her."