Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"You can't tell me you think Draco's going to go around wreaking havoc and terror on the wizarding world," said Sirius doubtfully.

"He's only sixteen."

"I didn't say that," said Lupin. "But things are beginning to fall into place."

Sirius looked at him dubiously. "Please tell me that place is somewhere near this place," he said. "Because I am not following you."

Lupin looked back at the book he was holding and said, "Sirius, have you ever seen a picture of the Founding Four?"

"Well, I've seen portraits, statues and the like."

"But never a portrait of them when they were young."

Sirius stared at him. "What are you getting at?"

"Come here," said Lupin, and beckoned him over. Sirius got to his feet and came around behind Lupin's chair. He followed his friend's gaze down to the desk, where the book the centaurs had given him lay open to its last page. Half the page was taken up with more unreadable squiggles. The lower half of the page was an illustration.

Yellowed with age, the parchment looked so ancient that it surely would have fallen apart if it had not been held together by spells.

But it was, and the illustration, done with bold strokes of ink, stood out plain and clear. It was a group portrait of four people. "That's Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin," Lupin said.

Sirius stared. Whoever the unknown artist of the portrait had been, they had captured not just the appearance but the spirit of all four.

Salazar stood with his chin raised, looking arrogant; Rowena looked thoughtful, Helga ebullient, and Godric faced the observer with a direct and challenging gaze. He knew why Lupin had showed him this. There was, in all their faces, a definite resemblance to four children that he knew. It wasn't physically obvious, but it was there, in their eyes, the way they held themselves, the way they stood.

"What does ut mean?" said Sirius.

"You know what?" said Lupin. "I've absolutely no idea."

When Hermione returned to the tent and sat down on the bed, she found that she was shaking with reaction, almost as if she'd just had some sort of terrible scare. She could still feel the potion coursing through her body like poison, knotting her stomach with confusion and anxiety. She leaned forward and put her face in her hands.

"Hermione?" said Ginny's voice.

Hermione whipped her hands away from her face and sat up. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No," said Ginny. "I was awake. In fact, I was worried about you, so I went looking for you."

There was a short silence.

Hermione said, "Well, I'm fine."

"Yes," said Ginny. "I rather think you are."

It was as if a fist had squeezed her heart. She knows. "Ginny-"

"If you tell me," said Ginny, in a very cold voice, "that that wasn't what it looked like, I will kill you."

Hermione bit back the words that sprang to her lips, and whispered instead, "I wish I could explain."

"I don't want an explanation," said Ginny. "I want to forget I ever saw anything."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, in a whisper.

"It's not me you should apologize to," said Ginny. "It's Harry. I almost told him, you know. I stood outside his tent, wondering if I should tell him."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God."

"But I didn't," Ginny said finally. Her tone was tense and distant.

Relief flooded through Hermione, but it was short-lived.

"I decided you should be the one to tell him, Hermione," Ginny snapped. "And you'd better. I'll make sure that you do."

"I can't," said Hermione. "You don't understand."

"Shut up. I don't want to talk to you. Now, or ever again."

In the morning, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny met in front of Charlie's tent with their broomsticks. They were a glum and silent group, Ron looking sulky, and Ginny and Hermione avoiding each other's gaze. Harry glanced around worriedly.

"Where's Malfoy? He must have gotten up before we did, because he wasn't in the tent this morning. He knows we're supposed to leave now."

Ginny glanced at Hermione, who was looking white and ill, and staring off fixedly in the other direction.

"I dunno," said Ron, sourly. "I vote we leave him here and he can catch up later."

"We can't find the Manor without him," said Harry crossly. "It's unplottable."

Ginny sighed. "I think I know where he is," she said, dropping her broomstick on the ground. They all glanced at her, Ron with a question in his eyes, Harry with curiosity, and Hermione with an anguished sort of pleading look, which Ginny ignored. "I'll go get him," she said. "I'll be right back."

She was conscious of Ron's eyes following her as she walked away, and felt bitterly resentful. He's got no call to be so suspicious of me, she thought. If he only knew-She emerged into the clearing where she had seen Draco and Hermione the night before. She saw the sword first, its green jewels glittering in the morning light, stuck blade-first into an oak tree.

Then she looked down and saw Draco, curled up on the ground, his head on his arms, apparently asleep. She approached him slowly. He had taken off his jacket and used it as a pillow; his hair looked very white against the black material. His eyes were closed; she could see dark blue shadows under them, as if he were exhausted. He looked pathetic, and altogether rather endearing.

"Right," said Ginny, drew her foot back, and kicked him hard in the ribs.

He yelled and rolled over, clutching at his midsection. "Ouch!" he gasped, looking up at her. "Ginny! What did you that for…?"

"Get up," she said savagely. "We're all waiting for you."

He blinked at her, and sat up, leaning back on his hands.

"Oh, for God's sake," she said, glaring at him.

"What?" he said, still blinking tiredly.

"You have bite marks all over your neck," she said, in a wintry tone.

"What were you two doing last night, chewing on each other? Never mind, don't answer that."

Draco put his hand to his neck, quickly. "Would you believe me if I said I was attacked by an angry squirrel?" he asked.

"Would that be the same squirrel that ate the buttons off your shirt?" replied Ginny acidly.

Draco glanced down at himself. "Bloody hell," he said. He looked up at Ginny. "Does everybody know — about last night?"

"Nobody knows but me," said Ginny, with loathing. "And I wish I didn't. I'm not going to tell Harry," she added, forestalling his question. "Not for your benefit, but because he deserves better friends than you."

Draco didn't say anything, just stood up and brushed the dirt off his clothes. Then, as Ginny watched, he ran his left hand down the front of his shirt. When he took it away, a neat row of buttons held the front together. He looked at her.

"You know some medical magic," he said. "Don't you?"

"Yes," said Ginny, knowing what was coming.

"You can fix my neck," he said. "Will you?"

Ginny felt her teeth grinding together in rage. "Malfoy-"

"I can't do it myself," he said, still looking at her steadily.

Ginny closed her hand around the wand in her pocket, took a deep breath, and said. "All right. Stand still." He obeyed her as she approached him and reached up to pull the collar of his shirt aside.

She bent his head to the side, took her wand and ran it over his neck, and the marks on his skin vanished. She stepped back and surveyed her work.

"You look fine," she said.

"Thanks," he said, reaching down to pick up his sword from the ground. He straightened up to find her looking at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Just so you know, I'm not doing this for you," she said. "I'm doing this because I don't want to see Harry hurt."

"Really?" Draco looked at her with an expression she couldn't quite read — anger? Amusement? Guilt? Nothing at all? "Better keep your eyes shut, then," he said, and walked away from her, back towards where the others were waiting with their broomsticks.