face when he was not awake never failed to surprise her and catch at her heart. In sleep, all his malice was stripped away, all those carefully cultivated manners and graces, and he was just an ordinary boy, eyes blue- hollowed with tiredness, the soft pulse of his breath stirring the hair that fell across his cheek in uneven strands like pale unraveled thread.
'Is everything all right?' Hermione asked, concerned by Fleur's intent expression.
The other girl said nothing, only let the tips of her fingers glide down his throat to his collar. Hermione fought back the urge to protest, even when the older girl's hand slipped into the collar of Draco's shirt, and drew out the Epicyclical Charm on its chain. 'So here it is,' she said, her tone reflective. 'I asked Harry what he had done with it, but he was so feverish…'
'He gave it back to Draco,' Hermione said.
'Typical,' said Fleur. 'As if such a gift, once freely given, can so easily be given back.' She let the charm fall and sat back, drawing the covers up absentmindedly over Draco as she did so. It struck Hermione as odd to see Fleur being so gentle, but then she remembered Fleur's little sister, and the fierce mothering possessiveness Fleur seemed to feel towards Gabrielle. 'I watched over Harry like this,' said Fleur, 'just last night.'
'Thank you for taking care of Harry,' Hermione said. 'And for telling us he was here. I know Viktor didn't want you to — '
'Viktor is honest to a fault,' said Fleur. 'But he did not sit with Harry while he was feverish; he did not hear him shouting out in his sleep for you…Both of you.' Her blue eyes, tracing Hermione's face, looked nearly black. 'I did not do it to be compassionate,' she said. 'I did it because Harry is our one chance against the Dark Lord, and if he does not accept that truth then I will accept it for him.'
'I know he is,' Hermione said. 'But I also love him. I'm thankful that you took care of him, whatever your reasons. I know we haven't always gotten along — '
'True, we have not,' Fleur admitted cheerfully. 'You have always been jealous of any girl who came near the boys you love.'
'Right, and then there was that whole business where you were evil,'
Hermione reminded her with some asperity.
Fleur had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. 'That is true,' she said.
'And you tried to take over the world,' Hermione added. 'And nearly got Harry killed.'
Fleur sighed. 'What would you have me say, Hermione? I could speak as Draco might, in mannered phrases, I could say I have done a great wrong, and seek to undo it. But that would not bring back any of them, these boys you have lost to dreams and divination and death. It will not make your journey shorter or your pain less, or the road to Romania any less dangerous — '
'Romania?' Hermione interrupted. 'Is that where Harry is going?' A sudden realization forced a squeak from her lungs. 'That Romanian coin!
He must have taken it from the Manor! Oh, I'm a fool.'
Fleur looked at her dryly. 'You're an idiot all right.' She looked down at Draco again. 'If you wish to discuss Harry's destination, Viktor knows more about it than I do.'
'As soon as Draco wakes up,' Hermione began.
Fleur shook her head. 'I would prefer it if you would go now. I would like a few moments alone with your Draco.'
'He's not my Draco,' Hermione said, although she hesitated. She didn't want to trust Fleur — she really didn't want to leave Fleur alone with Draco
— but Fleur had healed Harry and Viktor had helped him and she owed them both.
'I believe Viktor is in the kitchen,' Fleur said. Her tone was dismissive and final. 'It is where he usually goes to sulk.'
Hermione looked again at Draco. 'If you hurt him,' she said, not looking at Fleur, 'I'll kill you,' and she walked out, closing the door carefully behind her.
Fleur looked after her, and then with a sigh, turned back to the boy in the bed. 'Hurt you?' she said. 'You have, I think, been hurt enough.' She leaned over him, and her bright hair fell down around Draco like a veil and mixed with his own. He did not move, but, reaching out with her mind, she could feel his soft and steady breath, the beat of his heart, the course of blood in his fragile veins. I have done a great wrong and seek to undo it, she whispered against his cheek, and began to unbutton his shirt.
Voldemort did not look pleased — he never looked pleased — but a small, gratified hiss escaped through his teeth. 'The cup,' he said, 'she has it, then? You are sure?'
'I'm half goblin,' said Mortenson. 'I am trained to recognize objects of worth.'
'I must have that cup,' said the Dark Lord. His gaze slid to Ron, and lingered on him meditatively. 'I had trusted Lucius to procure it for me, but perhaps there is a more expedient plan…'
'My Lord,' Wormtail put in eagerly, 'I would be happy to — '
Voldemort waved a silencing hand. 'Where are they now,' he asked, 'Lucius' son and the girl?'
'They spoke to someone named Viktor,' said Mortenson, looking a little unsure, 'and another girl, and there was some talk of an apartment in Prague…'
'That would be Viktor Krum,' said Rhysenn. 'He is the Seeker for Bulgaria's Quidditch team.'
'And he does indeed have an apartment in the city center,' Gabriel added. 'We keep an eye on him. He's in the resistance, it is believed, although it has never been proven.'
Voldemort's gaze flicked to the vampire. 'Sunset is coming,' he said.
'Gather your… people to you. How soon can you be in Prague?'
Gabriel looked mildly irritated. 'It is a great distance, and it is too early for them to have fed, my Lord — '
''Denn die Todten reiten schnell,' said Voldemort, and smiled unpleasantly. 'Or so I have heard.'
Gabriel stood up, dumping Rhysenn off his lap. She landed, barefoot, with a vexed look, and hurled herself irritably into a nearby armchair. 'And what am I do to, exactly, when I get there?'
'The girl,' said Voldemort. 'Find the girl — '
'No!' Ron, surprising no one so much as himself, slammed his fist down on the table. It shook. Gabriel's half-empty goblet tipped over. A thread of thick red fluid seeped from it, onto the tabletop. 'You leave her alone,' he said, his voice sharp and carrying. 'You touch her and I'll never divine anything for you again, never!'
The room fell instantly, deathly silent. Wormtail stared down the table at Ron, something approximating horror on his face. Rhysenn's expression was bleak, and the small goblins all appeared to be looking elsewhere.
Only Voldemort looked amused. 'But, dear boy, I need that cup,' he said.
'And she has it.'
'I don't care.' Ron's breath felt thick in his chest. 'If you hurt her I'll never divine anything for you again. I'd rather die.'
The Dark Lord templed his long thin fingers under his chin. 'Very well,' he said. 'If you don't want her hurt…'
Ron's mouth fell open. 'What?'
The Dark Lord turned to Gabriel, who stood poised by the table, his face half-hidden by his long black hair. 'Bring her back alive,' Voldemort said.
'And with the Cup.'
The vampire bowed his head. 'As you wish, Lord.'
Voldemort stood up. For a moment he and Ron regarded each other from either end of the long table, Voldemort as tall and pale and unmoving as a pillar of bone. Ron felt his hands shaking and stuffed them into his pockets. He could feel Rhysenn staring at him, as if she were entreating him to do something, but he had no idea what.
When Voldemort finally spoke, his voice was almost without inflection.
'After all,' he said, 'I'll be bringing her here, little Diviner. You'll like that, won't you, seeing her again?'
