Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

And felt his heart thump in surprise.

He recognized where he was. The gray, tired-looking tower with its burnt, black walls — the dead trees — this was what he had seen in his mind when he had used the Epicyclical charm. He must be very close to where Hermione was. He began to walk more quickly, excited, skirting the wall, turning a corner, and as the familiar-looking half-burned tower came into view he suddenly heard Harry's voice in his head, Malfoy, you will come back?

Draco began to walk more slowly. Had Harry meant come back in one piece? Or had he meant come back when you've gotten rid of the veela so that we can go on together? He knew, of course. He knew exactly what Harry had meant. Harry wouldn't want to be left out of any part of this, would resent being abandoned to stand outside the walls while Draco went to look for Hermione. Something he had no real right or business doing.

I should go back, he thought. I should go back and get Ron and Harry. Harry's face swam in front of his eyes suddenly, wan and anxious it he had been the last few days.

Ouch!

He had walked into the wall of the castle. He stepped back, rubbing his elbow where he'd banged it against the stone, and looked up. He was standing directly under a tumbledown wall, the north side of which was blackened as if it had been burned in a fire. He felt a thrill of recognition.

I'm here.

Halfway up the wall, he could see a square barred window. He could feel the Charm around his neck, pulsing hot and cold against his skin. She was here; she was close by. If he closed his eyes, he could see her face. He could see himself rescuing her, see her looking up at him, telling him he was amazing, brave.

Forget it, he told himself sharply. She chose Harry. She's not going to be pleased about being rescued, either, especially not by me —

she's far too independent, she's not going to throw her arms around me and tell me I've been brave. She'll probably just kick me in the ankle.

You'll come back, right? said Harry's voice in his head.

Who cares what he meant? said another, sharper voice. Harry always gets to be the hero. Wins every game. Gets the girl. It'll always be that way; it'll never change. He won the last round; this won't make any real difference to him. But this is your chance to show you're better. Better or just as good.

He raised his hand without thinking, pointed at the barred window.

"Accio!"

There was a ripping, tearing sound, and the bars wrenched themselves free of the stone that held them and flew at him with such force that he jumped aside, letting them thunk loudly into the grass. He looked around wildly, but the gardens were as empty as before.

Now climb, he told himself.

Still, it was another several long moments before he could force his feet to move.

Wormtail smiled to himself with satisfaction as he eased the stone door open and stepped into the round room. It was just as he had left it; the darkness, the straw scattered across the floor, and Hermione, lying unconscious on the bed of straw, her cheek pillowed on her hand. He knelt down next to her, checking to make sure her eyes were closed, then pulled a length of material from his pocket and commenced binding it around her eyes, tying it tightly.

It wouldn't do for her to see anyone before the person she was intended to see. If, he thought, you could accurately call Salazar Slytherin a person.

He had just leaned forward to check that the knot behind her head was secure, then out of the corner of his eye, caught a flicker of movement. He turned his head, and to his utter astonishment, saw Hermione's hand emerging from his pocket — but she'd been unconscious — clutching it its grip his wand.

He gasped involuntarily, and saw her shaking hand swing around to point the wand at him.

"Stupefy!" she hissed.

For a moment, Hermione thought the spell hadn't worked. Then she heard the thud as Wormtail collapsed to the floor, landing heavily across her left leg. Revolted, she wriggled violently to the side, still gripping the wand, and staggered to her feet. She took a step forward, and her foot connected with something solid and heavy -

Wormtail's body.

Feeling nauseated, she staggered backwards, her hands outstretched behind her, until she struck the wall. She began to feel her way along it; her eyes squeezed shut under the blindfold, her fingers skittering over the rough stone. Her ears were pricked for any sound from Wormtail, but the room was utterly silent.

Her fingers found the smoother wood of the door, slid down it, and found the knob. She wrenched at it, but it was immovable.

Desperately, she clawed at the lock, but it was impossible, without being able to see it, for her shaking fingers to make sense of the complex metal configurations. At last she reached up, ripped the blindfold down — I won't look behind me, I won't — saw the lock, twisted it sharply, and wrenched the door open.

And saw Draco, standing astonished on the other side.

References:

1) "No, it's just a wild stab in the dark. Which is what you'll be getting in about one minute if you don't start being a bit more helpful." — Blackadder.

2) "It's kind of a long story," said Ron, looking nervous.

"Fell off my broomstick," said Draco shortly.

"Apparently not that long." — Buffy; the episode 'Phases.'

3) "A total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will always see us through." Blackadder.

As astonished as Draco was to see Hermione, he was even more astonished by the look on her face. She looked as horrified as if she had seen a ghost — and not just any ghost. The ghost of someone she loved.

"Hermione?" he said. "Are you — are you all right?"

She stared at him, still with the same awful, blank expression. "Oh, no," she said. "Not you."

He stared at her.

"I suppose you're here to rescue me," she said flatly, looking as if she were going to burst into tears.

"I-well, yes," he replied, floored. "Shall I come back at a more convenient time?"

"Why couldn't you have been Harry?" she said, still staring at him distractedly. "Is he all right? Why isn't he here?"

Draco stared at her. He hadn't expected a really big welcome, but this was ridiculous. "There were these veelas…" he began, awkwardly. "And Harry's fine, he's waiting outside. And my God, Hermione, what'd you do to Pettigrew?" he added, staring over her shoulder.

Hermione turned around, following his glance, and saw Wormtail lying sprawled on his back in the straw. Apparently, when she had kicked him, it had been in the face. The straw around his head was dark with blood.

"I hit him," she said shortly.

"I should say you did," agreed Draco, rather impressed. Then he shook his head, as if clearing it of cobwebs. "Is he the one who was keeping you here?" he demanded.

Hermione shook her head listlessly. "No."

"So there's someone else here-someone more evil, more powerful?"

Hermione nodded yes.

"Right," said Draco, and seized her arm. "We're going." Hermione didn't seem to want to move, so Draco began dragging her behind him down the hallway. She trailed him unwillingly, glancing behind her every few steps as if she expected them to be followed.

"Do you know the way out?" he asked her, panting a little as he tugged on her arm. "And would you hurry up?"

"No, I don't know the way out," she replied in a leaden voice. "I don't think there is one — and he's around here somewhere, he's not going to let us just leave-"

"Who's he? Voldemort?"

She laughed hollowly. "Voldemort? No."

They reached the top of a wide staircase, carved of pitted stone, that swept down to what looked like it had once been an entrance hall.