Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

Lupin actually laughed, a short gasp cut off by another spasm of pain. He winced and turned away from Sirius to face the wall.

"That does it," muttered Sirius, and fumbled in his pocket for his wand, casting his mind back to Hogwarts; he'd been with Lupin before when he Changed, but usually it was — though painful -

immediate, and anti-pain spells had never been-

Sirius paused.

His pocket was empty.

Sirius swore. He was even better at swearing than Draco, although he did it less.

He heard a chortle, and swung his head around to see the demon's gloating face pressed against the bars of its cell. "Only an idiot would stay locked in a cell with a werewolf," it said. "But only their heir to the throne of a kingdom of idiots would stay locked in a cell with a werewolf being Called by Dark powers."

Sirius glared at it, wanting nothing more a that moment than to leap across the space that separated them and bash its gloating face in.

"If you don't shut up," he told it in measured tones, "I'll finish what Harry started on you."

The demon bared its teeth at him and hissed. "You know nothing," it snarled at him.

"I know you tried to kill my godson."

The demon's eyes whirled, concentric circles of black and red. "I was not trying to kill him," it began indignantly, and then its red eyes widened and Sirius whirled around to see the wolf at his back.

*** ***

Harry, Draco tried to say, but his own voice made no sound. He opened his eyes, and for a moment wondered if he had gone blind.

He could see nothing but blackness.

Holding out his hands, he shuffled forward, into the darkness. There was no sound at all, no scent, no feel of heat or cold. He had always wondered if death was nothingness, and found that idea comforting.

Now he realized how terrible nothingness could be.

"Harry!" he called out, This time he heard his own voice, a soft echo.

He followed the sound of it until he heard another sound — a soft trickle, like falling water.

He threw his hand out, and this time it struck something hard. A wall. Feeling along the wall, he drew closer and closer to the sound of the water. At last he saw a narrow band of light and realized it was the end of a tunnel.

They always said there'd be light at the end of the tunnel, he thought grimly. But someone this isn't what I was expecting.

He squeezed his way through the narrow gap in the stones, and found himself standing on the bank of a swift-moving river. The bank he stood on was green and verdant, but the opposite side of the bank was gray and dry with dust.

He stepped down into the river. Icy water swirled around his ankles.

It was like wading through molasses. He glanced down, and shouted out loud in terror — there were faces under the water. White, staring faces with big, froglike eyes that stared up at him accusingly.

With a hoarse yell, he started to back away, but it was too late. A wet hand seized his ankle, long white fingers scrabbling for a hold on his trousers. A head, dark and sleek as a seal's, broke the water, and slowly, a woman rose to her feet before him. Her hair was long and dark, streaming water, and her long, velvet gown clung to her in soaking folds.

"Salazar?" she said.

Draco froze. And stared. And as she gazed at him, her blue eyes filled with a terrible sort of indefinable longing and fear, he realized that he knew her voice. It was the voice that had screamed in his head when the dementors got near him, crying out, asking him what he had done. "Rowena," he said, knowing now who she was.

"Rowena Ravenclaw?"

Her eyes filled with tears. At that moment, two other heads broke through the water, and two other figures rose to join her. Both were as wet as she was, and both stared at him as she had — one, a dark-haired man, gazed in anger and loathing, while the woman beside him, small and round with weed-streaked red hair, looked sad.

Godric, Draco thought, and Helga.

The dark-haired man — Godric Gryffindor — stepped in front of Rowena as if to protect her, his eyes fixed on Draco. They were full of hate. "So at last you are dead," he said. "We have waited a thousand years for someone to give you the punishment you deserve and to end your worthless, stolen existence — "

Godric looked rather as if he meant to go on in this vein for quite some time, so Draco interrupted him. "I'm not who you think I am," he said. "I'm not Salazar Slytherin."

The three looked doubtful.

"Look at me," insisted Draco.

Rowena, who had had her hand over her mouth, lowered it slowly.

"Godric…He cannot be Salazar. He is only a child."

They all stared at him. Draco was indignant. "I'm sixteen. I'll be seventeen in a few weeks."

"I wouldn't put money on that," said Godric, quite unkindly.

Draco glared at him. It struck him that he did not like Godric. It also struck him that in order to free himself from the Tragic and Destructive Cycle of History Repeating Itself, it might be wise to try to like Godric.

But he didn't want to like Godric. Godric, he thought, was a prat.

"You're dead, boy," said Godric with immense satisfaction, cementing Draco's dislike of him on the spot. "Face it — you'll never be seventeen."

There was something about the smug way he said it that reminded Draco of Harry. He could now begin to see how Godric resembled Harry, a grown-up Harry. A grown-up Harry who had spent a lot of time working out with heavy weights. His arms were huge. Draco was glad Godric didn't seem to be able to cross the river either. He didn't know what it would feel like to be punched in the face in the afterlife, and didn't much care to find out.

Rowena was still looking at Draco with a torrent of mixed emotions crossing her face. "You sound like Salazar," she said. "And you look just like him…"

"I'm his Heir," said Draco, seeing no reason not to divulge this information.

"Then you are cursed," said Godric. "And fortunate to have died."

Draco looked at him irritably. "Don't you ever say anything nice?"

"Godric," said Helga, in a warning sort of tone. Godric looked from Rowena to Helga, and did a sort of little shuffle with his feet. "Well, he is cursed," he muttered. "If he is truly Salazar's Heir…" He turned on Draco. "How do you know you're the Heir of Slytherin?' he demanded.

"Because Slytherin said so," Draco snapped.

"He said so?" breathed Rowena, her eyes widening. As with Godric, intense emotion seemed to make her form clearer, too. Draco could now see how much she looked like Hermione. It was very unnerving.

He had often played fantasies through in his head where he happened to bump into Hermione unexpectedly in various places.

The afterlife, however, had not been one of them. "You mean he is alive — he walks among you, as a man?"

"He's alive. I've seen him. But he isn't very powerful. He doesn't have a Source."

Rowena's spirit had begun pacing in a tight circle. "That won't last.

Salazar is clever. He'll find himself a Source. Has he tried to use you?" She glanced up, shook her head. "No, he wouldn't. Not his Heir…he'll try to find someone else." She whirled, looked at Draco.

"He must be prevented from returning to his full power," she said. "I shudder to think of the destruction, the despair he could wreak.

That is why we imprisoned him in the first place — "

"He told Hermione he shut himself away from the world-"

"He lied," said Rowena definitively. "He didn't want you to think he was weak, did not want you to know how his eventual defeat was accomplished. Helga and I could not kill him, but we rendered him powerless." She raised her eyes, looked at Draco. "As you must. If I tell you how he can be defeated, will you do it?"

"Look, I'd love to defeat Slytherin for you, but there is a slight problem with that plan," said Draco resignedly. "I'm dead."