Draco Veritas

Chapter Six: This Perfect World

Hermione had taken to calling it The Plan; Draco called it Just Your Run of The Mill Bog-Standard Scheme For Robbing A Museum And Stealing A Priceless Artifact, What? Harry didn't call it anything; he just rolled his eyes when they talked about it, and capped that off with a shrug. Not that he wasn't nervous, or determined—he was, Ginny thought, just as nervous and determined as the rest of them. He just wasn't spending as much time in the library as the rest of them were: Draco, Hermione, Ginny were there for hours every day, and even Ron, who evidently disliked having to spend so much time around Draco, was quite patiently putting up with it—Ginny was proud of him. It had been two weeks since they'd begun carving out The Plan, and he hadn't complained once.

They had commandeered a corner library table where they would not be disturbed, and in between classes Ginny knew Hermione would always be found there, usually with Draco sitting across from her. Most of the books that Hermione had wanted were not available in the Hogwarts library, not even in the Restricted Section. Books on dismantling Ministry wards, A Thief's Guide to Looting and Plundering, books on how to conceal the trace evidence left behind by theft spells—Hogwarts carried none of them. Draco had to Summon them for her from the bookshelves back at the Manor, which he did, along with something that had made Hermione shout in glee: the blueprint floorplans for the Malfoy Wing of the Stonehenge Museum. It amused Ginny to see the way Hermione tackled this project with the same gusto with which she had attacked their exams the week before.

"You should have seen her second year," said Ron, chin on hand and pointed nose stuck inside a tome entitled How To Get Away With Practically Anything. "I remember her handing me and Harry two drugged pastries and ordering us to go off and knock out Crabbe and Goyle for her. She was a terror." He looked up and over at Hermione, "Isn't that right?" he asked, but Hermione was not paying attention. She had just leaped out of her chair with a shriek.]

Hands on her hips, she shook her head in annoyance. "Draco! Honestly!" She glared down at the blond boy, who as looking up at her with large, innocent eyes and holding something quite revolting-looking in his outstretched hand.

"I Summoned it from the Manor this morning," Draco said, waving what looked like a mummified human hand at Hermione. "I almost forgot to give it to you."

"Well, I wish you had forgotten," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose up. "What is it?"

"It's a Hand of Glory," said Harry, appearing out of the shadows between the bookshelves. "Best friend of thieves and plunderers, right Malfoy?"

Draco twisted around in his seat and looked at Harry. "I wouldn't have expected you to know that, Potter."

Harry smiled faintly. His cheeks were flushed as if he had been outside in the cold, and his scarf was wrapped around his neck. Ginny wondered where he had gone after breakfast while the rest of them had trooped up to the library. Classes were over for the term while everyone studied for exams, but Harry these days often seemed to have all sorts of places to be that he just had to go to alone. "You'd be surprised what I know, Malfoy."

"Would I?" said Draco, a small smile playing about his mouth. "What's all this about you knocking out Crabbe and Goyle during second year, then?"

Everyone looked horrified. Ginny, who vaguely recollected hearing this story from Ron during her third year, choked on a giggle.

Draco raised an eyebrow politely at Ron. "You want to elaborate, Weasley?"

Ron had stuck his nose back in his book, but the tips of his ears were red. "Not really."

Draco gave him a measuring look, then put the Hand of Glory down on the table. It scrabbled across the table like an oversized spider and fell into Ron's lap. With a yowl like a scalded cat, Ron leaped to his feet, brushing frantically at the hand clinging to his belt. It fell to the floor, and Ginny put her foot on it. "Malfoy!" Ron choked, looking furious.