Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"Yes," he heard himself say. "It just won't wash out."

She reached up and touched his face, and as she did so, he saw that there was a scar on the inside of her wrist. He tried to lean closer to see it, but his dream-self wasn't cooperating. "This are better now," he heard himself say. "Aren't they?"

"You mean since you killed him?" said Hermione, looking cheerful.

"Oh, yes. Things are much better now."

He jerked away from her. "What? Who did I kill?" he demanded, and it wasn't his dream-self speaking, it was himself now. He saw her eyes widen in surprise, and then she spun away from him, vanishing along with the richly decorated staircase, the walls, and the rest of the dream.

He opened his eyes. He was staring at the black night sky carpeted with stars. When he rolled over, he saw that he was lying on the ground at the base of the rock he'd been sitting on earlier with Ginny. He had no memory of having fallen asleep there, no memory in fact of even having fallen asleep at all. One of his arms was under his head, the other, stretched out next to him, clutched the hilt of Slytherin's sword.

He sat up slowly, aware that he was drenched in cold sweat. He looked down at the sword. "I thought we were done with all that nightmare business," he said to it. "Am I ever going to get another peaceful night's sleep as long as I have you?" The green jewels in the hilt glittered up at him like winking eyes.

"Who did I kill?" he asked it. "Who did I kill?"

But he knew.

Not long after Harry and Charlie had departed, Ginny came into the tent, whistling softly and looking buoyant. Hermione, who had already put on one of Charlie's pullovers and was lying in bed, turned on her side and at looked at Ginny quizzically. "You seem awfully cheerful," she said.

Ginny flopped down on the bed opposite her and kicked off her shoes. "I am, a bit," she confessed. "In fact, there's something I wanted to tell you." She paused, and looked guilty. "Although, you're the one who ought to get to talk," she said, hastily. "I mean, after what you've been through-"

"No," said Hermione, automatically. "No, I really don't want to talk about it."

Ginny crawled under the covers with her clothes on, looking dubious. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"I'm completely sure," said Hermione. "In fact, if you have something pleasant to tell me, I'd love to hear it. I could do with a bit of cheering up."

"Okay," said Ginny, and said, very quickly, "I think I'm starting to fancy Malfoy."

"What?" Hermione almost fell out of bed. "How? Why? Are you sure?"

Ginny blushed as red as her hair. "I know, it's sort of weird," she admitted.

"Weird?" said Hermione, aware that her voice was reaching a slightly higher pitch than she had intended. "Ginny, he's — I mean, he's not -

well, he's not very nice, is he?"

"I know, I know. He's unpleasant, cruel, sarcastic, bitter and kind of strange. But I really think I like him."

"Oh," said Hermione faintly. "Are you sure it isn't just the leather outfit?" she added hopefully.

"No, I liked him before that," said Ginny, and told Hermione about how she had come into his room at the Burrow when he had had a nightmare, and how he had asked her to stay there with him. "I don't know, there was just something about how he asked me to stay. It was the first time I ever felt…sympathy for him."

"Oh," Hermione said again. She was aware that she was battling a strong urge to scream. "Well," she said, slowly, "Do you — do you think he fancies you?"

Ginny bit her lip. "I really don't know," she said. "Sometimes I think he might. He's certainly willing to talk to me, which for him is saying something. But then, yesterday — " And she repeated to Hermione what Draco had said about not needing love or wanting to be fixed, especially not by her. "So that was a bit discouraging."

Hermione could feel her stomach knotting in anxiety. Stop that, she told herself furiously. It's none of your business. "Actually, it's not discouraging," she said, a bit squeakily. "It means he likes you enough not to want you to have unrealistic expectations of him. You have to understand — he won't lie. Not about how he feels. He's always," she choked a little on the words, "painfully honest."

"With emphasis on the 'painful' bit," said Ginny, with a laugh.

"Ginny…are you sure? I'm mean, he's awfully…difficult," said Hermione, haltingly.

"I'm sure," said Ginny, sleepily. "I mean, I can say this now, since I don't feel that way any more…but after all those years of having a crush on Harry — I'm sorry, Hermione, but I mean, you already knew that — it's just such a relief to have these feelings about somebody else for a change. Somebody who doesn't already have," and now Ginny yawned hugely, "a girlfriend…"

"Right," said Hermione, staring wide-eyed at the roof of the tent. She sat up, suddenly, feeling her heart pounding hard against her ribcage, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Ginny blinked at her sleepily. "You getting up?"

"I forgot," said Hermione hastily. "I meant to send an owl — I'll be right back."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No — no, it's fine."

Ginny didn't respond. She's asleep, thought Hermione, with relief.

Good. She got to her feet and tiptoed across the room to the chair where she had left her clothes neatly folded. She took off Charlie's t-shirt and changed into the red dress she'd been wearing for the past few days. She didn't bother looking for her shoes, but went barefoot to the door and slipped through it, closing it carefully behind her.

It was cool outside, but not cold; the air was so clear it seemed transparent. The camp was bathed in milky moonlight; she could see the dim outline of Charlie's tent, and beyond that, the jagged line of trees in the distance.

Charlie had pointed out the where the owls were kept earlier when he had walked her to her tent. She found the small round tent without much trouble, located a diminutive brown owl, and gave it the letter she had written, addressed to Sirius Black at Malfoy Manor. She walked outside, watching the owl as it flew off over the distant line of trees, a small white speck vanishing into darkness.

And then, as she gazed unhappily out at the dark forest, a flash of silver caught her eye.

She walked towards it, not really thinking about what she was doing or why she was doing it, because she knew she had no good reason for being out here. She threaded her way among the silent, shadowed tents, passed Charlie's tent where Harry was sleeping, passed the pen where the dragons waited, awake, their gold eyes glittering like miniature suns against the dark sky. It might, under other circumstances, have struck her as an eerie and frightening sight, but she barely saw them now. She was going somewhere, she had a purpose, she was looking for —

Draco. He was standing in the same clearing that Ginny had found him in earlier, although Hermione couldn't have known that. He had taken off his jacket and was standing with his back to the rock. He seemed to be engaged in hurling Slytherin's sword violently at the trunk of a tree, watching it stick, retrieving it, and repeating the process. He didn't look up as Hermione walked into the clearing, but she saw his shoulders stiffen and knew that he had heard her approach.

"Who's there?" he called, not turning around. "You again, Weasley?

Come back for another spot of name-calling? God, I come here to be alone and it's like a bloody rock concert."

"You've been fighting with Ron?" Hermione asked. "Why?"

Draco whirled around, a look of surprise flashing across his face as he saw her. "Oh," he said. "You." He glanced at the sword, sticking at right angles out of the tree trunk, and sighed. "Yes, I've been fighting with Ron," he said. "What's new? The Weasleys and the Malfoys have been mortal enemies ever since 1325 when a Malfoy caught a Weasley poaching on his land and snicked off his head with an axe. Sensitive lot, those Weasleys. Ever since then, it's been schoolyard shoving, full-time name-calling, and general loathing all around."