Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

"Well, I managed to get around it by just not saying very much," said Draco, with a crooked smile.

"Knowing you, that must have been nearly as bad." Hermione smiled back at him.

"It's all right. I understand why you did it," replied Draco shortly, and his smile vanished. "Anyway, it's over now."

Hermione felt a flutter of uneasiness at his tone. "Well," she said, as lightly as she could, "at least now we can be friends."

"No," Draco replied without looking at her. "We're not going to be friends, Hermione."

She let go of the Lycanthe in surprise. "What? Why not?"

"Because I say so."

"That's not an answer."

Draco sighed. "Because someone once told me that there's a natural balance to all things. And this — " he indicated the space between them — "you and me, whatever we are, it upsets that balance."

"What? No! That doesn't make any sense, Draco. You know it doesn't."

"It makes sense to me."

She bit her lip. "I love you," she said, in a voice that wobbled. "I told you that before. Maybe not the same way I love Harry, but I do love you. Do you know what happened to me when I thought you died?

Do you know how I felt?"

"Stop it." Draco had thrown the covers back now and had slid to the edge of the bed, facing her. "Don't you see that's what I mean?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

He reached out at the same time she did; their hands met, and she gripped his tightly, trying not to wince at its coldness.

"There's something tying us together," Draco said. "Like I'm tied to the sword, like my father was tied to that Dark Mark branded into his skin. Do you remember what Slytherin said when he saw you with me? He was pleased. He was glad. Because he sensed that this tie, this bond, whatever we have, was working."

"What's wrong with having a bond? It doesn't necessarily have to be something evil."

Draco hesitated. "Every night I have-"

"Nightmares. I know-"

"Yes, nightmares. About you. Well, about other things as well, but you're always in them. And I know they're not necessarily my dreams, I know maybe they're being…sent to me from somewhere else, but still. It's every night, Hermione, every night and I'm afraid…I don't want to hurt Harry. And I don't mean in some weenie emotional way. I mean I'm afraid of hurting him. And in the dreams…"

There was a ringing in Hermione's ears. She stared at him, at his gray eyes, charcoal at the edges blending into silver at the pupils.

"What am I doing?"

"What?"

"In the dreams. What am I doing?"

Draco looked at her with obvious reluctance. "Sometimes we're married. Or, at least, we live together and it's all very ordinary and pleasant. Other times I'm…hurting you, we're fighting, and that's not so pleasant. Once we were hunting in the woods together. Two nights ago I dreamed that I was ill and that you came to see me…"

"And I told you that nobody had sent me," said Hermione slowly, her voice falling into a dreamlike cadence. "And you said that you let a snake bite you on purpose."

Draco had gone very white. "And I told you I loved you."

"And I said that you would sacrifice me along with all the rest."

Draco shook his head. "Not you. Never."

There was a moment of total silence. Draco stared at her with the expression of someone watching the night sky for a glimpse of falling stars — bemused, distracted, hopeful. Finally, he said, "How..?"

She reached out and took his other hand, covering both his hands with hers, hoping it might make him a little less cold. "That's what I dreamed last night," she said. "I thought it was just because I had been reading about the lives of the Hogwarts Founders, and Salazar Slytherin was bitten by a snake once, and nearly died. But it was so real…" she leaned forward, looking at him intently. The blood was beginning to flood back into his face;, there were patches of hectic color on his cheekbones, making him look feverish. "Draco, you have to tell me everything. Everything that's been going on with you. I can help you solve this, I promise you I can. I swear. Do you believe me?"

He hesitated. "Everything?"

"Everything. The dreams, everything."

"Even the one I had about the Brazilian women's Quidditch team?"

"Okay. Not that one."

"Hey, Ron. Have you seen Harry?"

Ron, who had been looking restlessly out the window, glanced over at his sister, who had just come into the living room, carrying a pair of boots. He shrugged. "I think he's in the garden with Charlie, getting his feelings out via de-gnoming. Why?"

Ginny flopped down on the floor and began lacing her boots up. "I wanted to ask him if I could borrow his pocketknife, but never mind. Why is he getting his feelings out?"

Ron pointed towards the staircase, indicating the upstairs floor.

"Draco. Hermione. Talking. Or whatever," he said succinctly.

Ginny looked displeased. "And Harry let them? He shouldn't let them."

"Yeah, and you're entirely objective. Honestly, the tangled love lives around this place. You can't not let people do things, Ginny. You just have to trust them."

Ginny looked as if she thought this was an extremely suspect line of reasoning. "I don't see why."

"Relationships are based on trust."

"Can't they just be based on common interest and insane physical attraction?"

"Try to wind me up all you like, I will ignore you. What's with the boots, anyway?"

"I'm going down into the cellar to investigate."

Ron looked baffled. "Investigate what?"

Ginny shrugged. "What Dad's always going on about. Our Hufflepuff ancestry. I mean, if Hermione did say that Helga Hufflepuff in that tapestry she saw looked just like me. And if she's related to Ravenclaw…well, it just makes sense that if there was anything tying us to Hufflepuff, it's be in the cellar. I mean there's just miles of tunnels and things down there that no-one's even bothered to look into for hundreds of years. Remember when George found that spear thing and Dad said it dated back to one of the first goblin rebellions?"

Ron shook his head. "Seems a bit far-fetched, but suit yourself."

"Why don't you come with me? We're not needed up here at the moment."

Ron shuddered. "Spiders," he said shortly.

The door banged open, and Harry came in, looking disheveled. His hands were covered in dirt, and there was mud all over his white t-shirt. He glanced from Ginny to Ron. "What are you two up to?"

"Ginny's decided to excavate our cellar," said Ron, shrugging.

"And I want Ron to come with me, but he won't."

"He can't," Harry corrected, taking Ron by the back of the shirt. "I need him for something else at the moment."

Ginny made a face. "Have it your way," she said, yanked the cellar door open, and stomped loudly down the stairs.

Harry looked after her, and then back at Ron, a quizzical expression on his face. "She seems…different lately. Don't you think?"

"Maybe," hedged Ron. "Harry, you're getting dirt clods on my shirt."

"Oh. Sorry. Here, come on upstairs with me."

"I can't believe you're taking notes on what I'm telling you."

"Well, you never know what will turn out to be important, do you?"

Hermione glanced up at Draco and smiled, tucking a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear. "I can't believe you talked to the Founders. In person. You're like… history on legs now."

Draco looked mournful. "I'd rather be sex appeal on legs."

"History is a very sexy subject."

"Which is why Professor Binns is just hell on wheels with the ladies down at the Three Broomsticks."

"Professor Binns is dead, Draco."

"So was I, yesterday."

"Show-off." Hermione's smile took the sting out of her words. She bit the end of her quill and regarded Draco thoughtfully. Draco himself was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up, his hands looped around them. Hermione was leaning forward in her chair, notebook propped open against his legs. "Now you're sure that what Rowena said to you was that you need the Heirs, and their Keys."